Hello there, and welcome to the new Van Jensen newsletter, which seems absurd, since the old Van Jensen newsletter lasted for all of one missive. I decided to move to Substack, and I wanted to wait until I had something worth talking about before relaunching.
And so here we are! A shiny new thing! BYLINES IN BLOOD released its first issue this month. It’s my new series from Aftershock Comics, co-written with Erica Schultz and illustrated by Aneke, an incredible Spanish artist. The premise is, basically, what if 2020 had gone slightly worse? A near future in which a pandemic has caused economic collapse, leading to the death of independent journalism. In this post-fact world, a reporter-turned-private investigator searches for her friend’s murderer.
It’s fun, cynical noir with what I think are some interesting sci-fi touches, but at its core this is a book about what happens when a society loses the bedrock of truth. The book has had a very nice reception, and if you haven’t yet tracked down a copy *nudge nudge* you can go to your nearest comic book shop and find one.
What else is going on? Well, kind of a lot. I spent the past couple of years working on a novel and developing two TV series.
Bad news: The TV projects made a lot of progress, and some cool things came out of them, but neither will become an actual TV show. I am told this is the way Hollywood usually works, or doesn’t, depending on one’s perspective.
Good news: But my novel will be published! I can’t share the specifics. YET. But, you know, stay tuned to this here newsletter for more.
I’m also currently working on a lot more comics projects, including a graphic novel with artist Jesse Lonergan (!!!), a series at Dark Horse co-written with actor/director/writer Jay Baruchel and drawn by Alessandro Micelli, and a handful of other nifty things.
OK, so in these newsletters, I want to offer something that is worth your time to read, and so my plan is that I’ll offer some writing advice most editions. And here’s the advice I have for you today: Find your tea kettle. What? Hold on. I’ll explain.
About a decade ago, we bought a house. We’d always lived in apartments, and it felt daunting, filling all that space with stuff. Not just furniture and things you use, but decor.
We got most of the house settled, but the kitchen remained a blank slate. What color should we paint the walls? What art should we hang? And what color of picture frames? What style of cookware? What type of dishes and glasses? It felt like an infinitude of options, and faced with that, we were paralyzed. We made NO decisions. The kitchen sat, effectively empty.
One or the other of us would suggest something — What if we put up that big, old mirror? — but then the other would point out that it would then trigger a cascading series of other uncertainties to confront. (How do we match the mirror to the backsplash???)
I don’t know about for you, but for me, this often is how writing feels. A blank page like that empty kitchen, taunting you with the promise and pressure of infinite possibility. And once you get into the writing, you make one decision, but then that has cascading effects across all the other possibilities. It’s like trying to sketch an elaborate image on a table piled with sand. Reach out to adjust one area, and you drag your elbow somewhere else, screwing up the work you’d already finished.
Now, back to our kitchen. One day, we were out at a store, and I saw a rack of tea kettles that came in a rainbow of colors. “I’m getting this,” I said, pointing to one. I saw my wife start to stress out. “Which one? What color? What about the mirror and the backsplash and…?”
I grabbed a teal tea kettle. “This one.” I said. And against her protests, I bought it, took it home, and set it on the stove. “There,” I said. “That tea kettle isn’t moving. So we figure out everything else around it.”
And you know what? We did. Pretty easily. One decision had been made. An absolute, rock-solid thing sat in the center of the kitchen. And it didn’t just heat up water, it drastically cut down on our potential options. The canvas wasn’t infinite. It was…whatever is complementary to teal.
This isn’t a new idea. It’s generally referred to as creative constraints, and there is a whole lot of research that says they’re very, very beneficial. The way I think about it is this: While deciding what a creative work is, I also decide what it is NOT.
There’s a passage in Alan Moore’s Writing for Comics where the curmudgeon genius explains that constraints are essential for him, but that the type of constraint often changes. It could be a key plot point or scene. It could be a specific tone or voice. It could be taking on a particular perspective. It could even be a literal framing device.
So, true story: I had the idea years back of doing a single issue comic book in which it was all one continuous panel. I thought it should be a chase along the length of a train. I agreed to write a Six Million Dollar Man series literally just so that I could do this weird framing. That whole story, my tea kettle was this ridiculous chase! And with artist Ron Salas, we knocked it the hell out.
There it is (click to zoom in). Twelve feet of consecutive comics. I’m not saying it’s the greatest or most special thing in the world, but it was a hell of an easy and fun issue to craft. Just get to the front of the train! And it was unique at the time, though copied since (ahem).
The point is, if you’re struggling with writing a script or story, and if it all feels like shifting sand on a table, think about what the very most important element of it is. What is inviolate? And once you have that thing, really celebrate it. Put it dead center. Hold it in mind. Anything that doesn’t fit with your tea kettle, throw it in the bin. Stare at that tea kettle, and ask: “OK. I have this. Now what?”
👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼
Congrats! On several fronts!