An interview with Devin Grayson

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By Shane Dingman

Continued from page 5

This is the point at which you would consult your editor about the story — tip him off to what you’re thinking about doing if you’re very established and trusted, or submit a formal proposal if you’re still kind of an unknown quantity (to that specific editor — it doesn’t always matter how well you may or may not be known in the industry at large). For a creator-developed story like the one we’re discussing here, you’ll definitely also have to write a formal pitch to be approved by upper administration:

OVERVIEW: Five newly orphaned, socially maladjusted teens attempt to flee an imperfect home-life, troublesome superpowers, and their overwhelming grief by traveling the DCU in an inherited Winnebago searching for superheroic camaraderie. Instead of discovering an open-armed community of super-peers, however, they find a world as competitive and distrustful as the overcrowded home they’re trying to out-run. It takes a few battles with supervillains and other treacherous threats to their family — like Child Protection Services — to teach them that nothing is stronger than the bond they share among themselves even if it includes grief.

DRIVING THEME/WHY THIS IS UNIQUE: We’ve all had days when it would feel great to pound a nefarious supervillain into submission, but usually we’re too busy struggling with personal insecurities to triumph over larger world threats. The Weinbergs get a chance to do both in this sometimes humorous, sometimes tender attempt to address the almost superheroic courage it takes just to grow up. The powers that these teens possess are not genetic blessings nor gifts from alien civilizations, they’re inconvenient and unmanageable defense mechanisms against a world that makes no room for adolescent imperfection. In between inter-galactic emergencies and life-threatening battles, the Weinbergs learn that nothing is scarier than group psychology.

WHAT THE STORY IS ABOUT: This six part arc follows the teens on their travels from Berkeley to New York (passing through Opal City, Central City, and Metropolis), as they’re pursued by agents from Child Protection Services (CPS), a super-villain group called Counter Strike which seems to be after a notebook in Cameron’s possession, and their own fears and doubts about life without parental supervision. The Weinbergs focus most of their energy on attempting to unravel the mystery of “Project Cypher” — the only cryptic reason the villainous Counter Strike has given for pursuing them. It’s in New York that they learn that Cameron himself is “Project Cypher” — a biological construct conceptualized by lead scientists at STAR Labs, but built by the CBI Defense Subdivision in Central City, who believe that the project has tremendous potential as an anti-super-hero recon instrument.

“Cypher’s” pre-determined objective is to adapt to any surrounding super-powered individual and molecularly capture enough of their powers to return to his owner with testable stored data -- a small matter of “programming” that accounts for Cameron’s literal fear of being alone. A conscious pact to protect Cameron’s right to live his life as a free agent rather than remain a pawn in a dangerous game of technological politics is the final decision that solidifies the Weinbergs’ commitment to stick together, leaving the team with a greater sense of collective purpose and ready to carve a name out for themselves — albeit it an unusual one — in superhero history. Subplots include group adoption by the Weinberg’s maternal grandfather, battles with the kind of supervillains that attack anyone wearing a costume, and a less-than-productive encounter with Superman himself.

And to give the marketing department a sense of what you’re doing:

YOUR PARENTS ARE DEAD. YOUR LITTLE SISTER THINKS SHE’S LOBO. CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES WANT TO TALK TO YOU, THREE OF YOUR BEST FRIENDS HAVE SUPERPOWERS THEY HATE, AND YOU’VE JUST INHERITED A WINNEBAGO.

SUDDENLY, YOU’RE THINKIN’, “ROAD TRIP.”

So, let’s assume for the sake of argument (or history, in this case) that you get approved. Chances are good that you’ll have to adjust your proposal to address concerns of various editors or upper management (The Weinbergs — which ended up being marketed, to my disappointment, as Relative Heroes — entailed nine proposals before it was approved, whereas USER took only two), now you’re looking at actually writing the damn thing, and this is where the outline comes in.

Sometimes (all too often, actually) on a regular series (meaning one that comes out every month, as opposed to a limited or miniseries like Relative Heroes) there simply isn’t time to write an outline. You’ve had a discussion with the editor about where, in general, the book’s going, the regular artist starts running a little late and — bam! — the editor hires a fill-in artist and needs a twenty-two page script from you in two days. I suppose if you’re very disciplined, you’ll realize that you’ll ultimately save time if you stop to work out an outline anyway, but at that point, I and many writers I know usually jump right to, “Page one, panel one...” and do the best we can.

With a mini-series like Relative Heroes, though, it’s up to DC when to schedule its release, so you almost certainly have time to work out a thorough outline (and since this story will have a beginning, middle, and end, it’s all the more crucial to — it’s easier to fake it when you can end a comic in a cliff-hangar...I remember once a friend of mine left his lead character in a particularly horrific situation at the end of one the comics, and when I asked him how the character would get out of it, he smiled sheepishly and admitted “I don’t know yet,”).