Douglas Messerli (Editor-in-Chief's POV)
The first panel was tall and vertical, bleeding off the page edge in an artistic flourish. Contained within were the fox and the rabbit arguing mid-run through a shadowy market. Background vendors blurred into streaks of smudged black and white outlines.
The fox's bubble overlapped the rabbit's panel. "I told you– turn left!" The rabbit's speech was written in a jagged font, "And I told you– stop giving orders!"
Huh… speech bubbles that overlapped and panels that broke, bold unseen techniques that made the tension look more chaotic than it would've normally been
So the kid wasn't just a literary genius. It was merely a subset of his true abilities, which, as I found out today, encompassed the artistic medium as a whole.
I look up for a brief second at the self-satisfied smirk on his mug before proceeding with the second panel.
Which incidentally had a diagonal split separating it from the rest. The top half covered the fox vaulting over a crate, while the bottom half contained the bunny crashing into it.
"–You're impossible!" Judy's bubble overlapped both halves, while Nick's was squeezed into a corner, "And you're slow."
I flip over the page and continue onto the next, a grin tugging the edge of my lips as I picture the stack of notes this will bring in.
Jack Ellison (MC's POV)
Minutes turn into an hour as Doug scrutinizes the collection of pages in his hands, drawn and written by hand, with a pencil by yours truly.
In the 1980s, before the widespread adoption of computers, color comics were almost entirely hand-drawn and hand-colored, although the process involved multiple specialized steps to create the finished product.
In this case, I drew each page full-size with a pencil, and then traced over the lines with black India ink to make the artwork crisp for reproduction in a process called the inking.
That's where my role ended, as whatever I came up with would then be photographed and sent to a colorist, who would then hand-color a smaller version of the page with markers, watercolors, or dyes.
Then the colorist would fill out codes for each section using a limited CMYK palette, often 64 colors in total, before sending it to color separators who would use the codes to create four acetate overlays, one each for Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and the Key plate, which was almost always Black.
The 4 overlays were then combined in printing to create the finished product… a highly contrived process in my futuristic opinion, but apparently the norm for the time period I was stuck in.
While Doug engrossed himself in my work, I had to resort to fidgeting my leg to pass the time, until finally, he was done.
He gathered the pages and shuffled them into a neat, orderly stack before setting them aside and then… proceeded to peer at me for a minute straight without uttering a word.
Naturally, I peered back, not wanting to lose whatever the hell he had started, but even my extraordinary patience had its limits. "Stare at my handsome face any longer, I would be obliged to call 911 so… verdict?"
He sighs in exhaustion before leaning back into his chair and palming the glass of Hennessy on his desk and downing the contents in a single gulp.
"Jack-jack, little Jacky boy… I find myself at a crossroads here." He started by leaning in to give off an edge of professionalism. "On one hand, I am tempted to gobble up the chance to publish this as discussed previously. The first-look clause, as stated in the contract, ensures I have the right. On the other hand…" He clutches his head tightly before rubbing it in circles. "I can't in good conscience derail your future at what I would view to be a rather redundant affair."
I furrow my eyes at that. "Sorry, what? Mind expanding on that?"
Again, he pauses for a few seconds, clearly weighing options in his head, before arriving at a consensus. "Do you know the difference between a 'Big Five Publication' and the one you are currently seated in?"
I raise an eye at that, "I have a feeling you're about to tell me yourself."
"And right, you would be. Sharp instincts as always. Now… the difference is far and varied in many aspects, but the one that truly matters to an author such as yourself would be reach. As an Indie studio, our resources are highly limited. The maximum no. of copies we printed for Zootopia was 10k. And our reach limits us to LA and around. If we are talking domestically… we would leave a lot to be desired since we simply do not have the nationwide distribution apparatus that the 'Big Five' do. And frankly speaking, it was never our focus to begin with. Because the books we release under our banner are usually geared towards garnering critical attention and bagging awards in niche circles. An approach that, in hindsight–" He chuckled for a moment before going on, "was never going to bring out the full potential of your work."
If before my patience had run thin, then now, it was barely being held on by a thread. "As much as I love talking around in circles for hours with you, my Mom's gonna be here soon to pick me up, so… mind getting to the heart of the issue?"
"Do you know what our sales projections were for your novel?"
"... Not really Doug, you said you didn't wanna raise expectations, so I never bothered to find out."
"Well, since that's not a concern any longer, let me enlighten you right now. We expected 3k copies to be sold in November, and a further 2k in December. Accounting for buzz generated by your public appearances, we expected to sell out by February at most, and this particular projection was rather liberal as a whole."
I paused for a second as I internalized it all, before responding, "Well, considering it's the 4th of Dec today, I am guessing the sales exceeded expectations?" I ask inquisitively.
And that's when his composure snapped like a rubber band. "WE SOLD OUT! We– sorry for raising my voice, but– you must understand how unusual this was. Every single copy sold out Jack! Bookstores all over the state are demanding copies faster than we can produce! For an indie publication, demand overtaking supply rarely ever happens if never… until now." He banged his desk lightly before bulldozing ahead, "While you were traipsing around book signings and library meet-ups, I was busy fielding urgent calls from booksellers across the state asking for more like Oliver fu– pardon my language, Oliver Twist! They were hungry for more Jack! And naturally, we couldn't afford to finance a second run without stretching ourselves thin, so after banging my head against the wall, I finally reached out to my distributor yesterday and–" He faltered slightly, beads of sweat pouring from his hairline as he took deep breaths in an attempt to compose himself.
"You know what? Everything after this will be covered in the scheduled meeting tomorrow with Vincent. I am sorry Jack, but I cannot, in good conscience, reveal more details without your agent being present in the room–"
Oh hell no. Nobody leads me on a chase and leaves me hanging high and dry.
"Doug, it's okay man. It's me, you know me, don't you? I won't tell, cross my heart and all, just- give me something at least! I mean, look at it from my eyes, I just found my book sold out, and the next step to take will be revealed tomorrow?! Come on, just a little-"
"No. Anything more and it won't look good on me, you are a minor after all, and we have laws in place that prevent exploitation so-"
"Oh come on! I promise Doug! Not a word to Vince or my parents, I mean, you said it! You'll see them yourself tomorrow, so I just have to hold it in for a day, right? You're saying you don't trust me enough to hold on for a mere 24 hours?!" I follow up my anguished performance with wide doe-like eyes, the absolute epitome of innocence.
And after a minute or two more, I finally managed to coax it out of him. "I reached out to my distributor last week, who connected me to a senior editor at Simon and Schuster's–"
"Hold on a fucking second here-"
"Language boy!"
"THE Simon and Schuster? Over on the East Coast? Largest publisher in freakin' America?!"
He started sweating bullets as he reached out for a hanky to wipe it off, "Your mouth's gonna get me in a heap of trouble boy, so mind keeping it down a little–"
I cut him off instantly, my excitement overriding any admonishment he could possibly dish out at the moment. "Let me guess, the editor talked about a mass-market paperback reprint?"
His eyes bulged at the leap I made. Evidently, my deduction had hit the mark. "How in the hell do you even know–"
"Vince told me months ago." I brushed him off before continuing, "So how many copies? 100k? Double that? Half a million?!" By now, I was bouncing up and down on my feet, as I eagerly awaited what would amount to music to my ears.
"No-no-no, we haven't gotten that far yet– still discussing the terms of our contract, very early stages. And we will only begin serious discussions after hashing it all out with Vince, your parents, you– everyone even remotely involved, this is a first in the history of this publishing house after all. Listen now, it's highly important for the sake of my sanity, that you keep this within your twisted little mind until tomorrow–"
"Yeah-yeah, pinky swear and all–"
"Be a little serious, Jack, I know you are certainly capable of it." He looked exasperated at this point.
"... Sure. Anything else?"
He thought for a second before snapping his fingers, "Yes, in fact, the point I wanted to discuss before we derailed off the tracks– Ahem. Jack, I want you to know that I am passing on this." He said, holding my comic in his hands, before settling it gently on my side of the desk as I watched, wide-eyed.
My brain ground to a stiff halt as I contemplated the reason for his words. Try as I might, I couldn't think of any.
"... I can see the mental gymnastics going on in that head of yours, so allow me. Sun & Moon, unfortunately, simply does not have the resources to color the comic, nor a suitable distributional network to ensure it reaches the right hands. So… take the comic with you, and present it to the editor over at 'S&S' when you inevitably visit the Big Apple. A finished adaptation, with such a striking inventive art-style, will give you some much-needed leverage in your talks. You know what? I think I've covered enough here– this was just the cliffnotes. You'll get the full blast tomorrow with Vince explaining what it entails, capiche?"
This time, I nodded seriously. I recognized the gesture for what it was. An advantage given in good faith.
If he wanted, he could've forced the deal, published the black and white version locally, and similarly negotiated a mass re-print, which would have given him a slice of the licensing pie in perpetuity if he wanted. The first look clause was iron-tight, and fighting it would've been a downhill battle from day one.
But no… he decided to do what was better for me rather than his firm. Then again, he probably realized the second I met the editor over at Simon and Schuster, I would try and change ships for a better, longer journey. This way, his impression in my eyes would remain untainted by greed, and he would come off as a well-meaning gentleman in an industry full of slithering snakes at every step.
Douglas Messerli. Either you are a genuinely selfless man… or just a really smart one.
Then again, his actions might be motivated by a mix of both. Self-preservation of his reputation in my eyes, and a drive to ensure the industry doesn't exploit the next great literary mind of the upcoming generation.
And I know for a fact that he truly believed in me. In my ability to take the world by storm when I unleash my creativity in the future.
So I smile. A big, wide grin, stretching from cheek to cheek as I thank him profusely.