In this interview, John discusses how a social media comment helped inspire his new middle-grade graphic novel, Rodeo Hawkins and the Daughters of Mayhem, the process of collaborating with an illustrator, and more.

Name: John Claude Bemis
Book title: Rodeo Hawkins and the Daughters of Mayhem
Publisher: Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House
Release date: September 9, 2025
Genre/category: Middle-grade graphic novel
Previous titles: The Wooden Prince; Lord of Monsters; The Nine Pound Hammer; The Wolf Tree; The White City; The Prince Who Fell From the Sky
Elevator pitch: Rodeo Hawkins and the Daughters of Mayhem follows Sidney Poblocki as he’s being chased by a group of interdimensional assassins—who just happen to be after every other kid in the universe named Sidney Poblocki as well. With the help of a ragtag group of mischief-makers (the Daughters of Mayhem) and their fearless leader, Rodeo Hawkins, Sidney embarks on a mission to figure out why these assassins are after him.

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What prompted you to write this book?

It seems backwards, but the inspiration for Rodeo Hawkins and the Daughters of Mayhem actually started with the title. That became the starting point oddly enough. Back when my daughter was in first grade, she had to dress up like a vocabulary word and chose “catastrophe.” She wrapped herself in bandages, had a sling on her arm, crutches. It was hilariously adorable, so naturally, I posted it on Facebook. A friend commented that she looked like “a daughter of mayhem.” I had no idea what she meant, but that was my lightbulb moment.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that expression. Who were these Daughters of Mayhem? What was their story? It was just so compelling, and my imagination was on fire dreaming up this ragtag crew of scoundrel girls who travel around the cosmos stirring up mischief and having wacky magical adventures.

How long did it take to go from idea to publication? And did the idea change during the process?

Going from the initial ideas to a finished manuscript was relatively quick—just a few months. But going from book deal to publication took a long time—almost seven years, which not coincidentally included those pandemic years. It’s a graphic novel, and I had an amazing partner with illustrator Nicole Miles. But she had the herculean task of doing over 250 pages of full color multi-panel illustrations! Unlike Marvel or DC where a whole team creates the comic, the expectation for a children’s graphic novel is that the illustrator does all the work.

Once I got to see Nicole’s illustration style, we made some minor changes to the story to take full advantage of her visual personality—especially how brilliantly she handles humor and the fantasy elements. But my vision of the story always remained the same.

Were there any surprises or learning moments in the publishing process for this title?

I have a lot of friends who are picture book writers but don’t illustrate their work. Generally, editors like to keep a picture book writer and the illustrator at arm’s length. So, I was surprised when my editor involved me in looking at Nicole’s sketches and finished art to offer notes and suggestions. I’m also a visual artist, so the opportunity to have a say about the art was exciting. We all worked as a team which I wasn’t expecting. That collaborative aspect was enormously fun and rewarding!

Were there any surprises in the writing process for this book?

I didn’t originally plan for Rodeo Hawkins and the Daughters of Mayhem to be a graphic novel. I had the whole story vividly in my head and needed to get the bare bones of a first draft down as quickly as humanly possible. So, I wrote it as a script or screenplay—where the focus was on punchy dialogue driving the story and having the actions, gestures, and descriptions simply be “stage directions.” Without the full narration I typically use in a novel, I was able to complete the first draft in about a month. I intended to then flesh it out in revisions into a novel. But once I read it, I began to see how it might work best as a graphic novel. Luckily, when I showed it to my agent, he agreed, and the rest is history.

So, writers, take note! Even if you’re planning to write a novel, you might consider blasting out a first draft in script format just to start getting your story ideas out of your head and down on paper. It’s always worth experimenting with a new approach.

What do you hope readers will get out of your book?

Pure fun! Excitement! When I was a kid, I wanted books that transported me on magical adventures. I wanted stories that after I read them, I’d daydream or pretend play that I was one of the characters or in the fantastical world of the book. That’s how I approach my craft. I’m writing the stories that I would have wanted when I was in elementary and middle school—stories loaded with humor, heart, and thrills. In Daughters of Mayhem, I want kids to go on wild misadventures with these wacky characters exploring the strange corners of the multiverse.

If you could share one piece of advice with other writers, what would it be?

Be a professional daydreamer. While it’s important to have a dedicated routine for writing, it’s equally important to dedicate time to simply thinking about your ideas, characters, and story. Cut off the radio in the car and use the drive to daydream about your story. When you feel boredom coming on, don’t distract yourself by scrolling on your phone. Instead, sit there and let creative thoughts bounce around. Take long walks with only a back-pocket notebook. Daydream when you wash the dishes or fold laundry. Jot down your ideas. My best insights often come while doing some mindless activity. Having an imagining routine is as important as having a writing routine.

The post John Claude Bemis: Be a Professional Daydreamer appeared first on Writer's Digest.

(Storyboarding for Writers.)

As I did my due diligence by immersing myself in graphic novels throughout writing the first draft, I learned that silence speaks louder than words. A character sitting silently on her bed, her shoulders hunched, her eyes cast downward, doesn’t need a thought bubble to explain what she feels. That single panel says more than a paragraph ever could. That’s when it hit me: The strength of a graphic novel isn’t just in the words; it’s in the spaces between them.

A graphic novel is a dance between two media. Writing a graphic novel isn’t the same as writing a prose novel with pictures added on later. It’s a visual form of storytelling where art and text must be in constant conversation, not competition. In many ways, it’s like writing a script for film or stage, except every shot, every gesture, every pause must be imagined and communicated clearly to your illustrator. And then you have to step back and let them show it.

That kind of restraint doesn’t come naturally to most writers. We’re taught to describe, to explain, to give the reader the full picture. However, in graphic storytelling, over-explaining is often a sign of mistrust. Mistrust in the art, in the illustrator, and the intelligence of your reader.

In one key scene from Fitting Indian, the main character confronts her mother in the kitchen after a family blow-up. Originally, I had written a full page of dialogue. The character poured out her anger and frustration in lines that felt powerful on the page—but crowded in the panel. It felt overwhelming when I read it back.

So I stepped back and tried to imagine the scene: the mother’s tightly gripped teacup, the daughter’s clenched jaw. I realized the words were diluting the emotional impact, not enhancing it, so I trimmed the page back to a few essential lines and let the illustrations do the heavy lifting. That scene now lands harder because of the restraint.

5 Tips for Writers Who Aren’t Illustrating Their Graphic Novel

1. Write visually, not just verbally.

In your script, think in terms of images and actions. Describe what’s happening in the panel beyond dialogue—what’s the character doing, feeling, showing? What’s happening in the background? I have scenes with background actions that are foreshadowing future events in the plot. For example, Chloe and Henry are canoodling at the first party, but Nitasha doesn’t learn until later that they are dating. 

2. Avoid “double writing.”

If a character is crying, don’t write a caption that says, “She was so sad she began to cry.” Let the image show the emotion. The words should add depth, not redundancy.

3. Leave space for stillness.

Not every panel needs dialogue. Not every page needs dialogue. Silence can create tension, intimacy, or reflection. If you have a copy of Fitting Indian, look at the scene where Jaya attempts to take her own life. There are no words. I trusted Tara to see my vision and make it hers.

4. Be collaborative and open to revision.

Your illustrator is your co-storyteller. If they propose a layout or beat change that strengthens the moment visually, listen. This isn’t about you. This is about the story. 

5. Think about pacing.

You control how quickly or slowly readers move through the story by how much you include in a panel and how panels are arranged. A quiet moment stretched across three silent panels can land more powerfully than a single frame packed with speech.

4 Common Mistakes—and How to Avoid Them

Overloading panels with text.

If your dialogue takes up more than 25% of the panel, you’re probably doing too much. Tighten the line or break the scene into smaller moments.

Micromanaging visual details.

You don’t need to specify every strand of hair or exact body angle unless it’s critical to the story. Leave room for the illustrator’s interpretation. This is their forte, and it’s up to the writer to give them the space to shine. 

Writing like a prose novelist.

Graphic novels aren’t just “books with pictures.” If you’re overly descriptive in captions or internal monologue, the story can feel weighed down and unbalanced.

Forgetting visual symbolism.

Images can carry metaphor and meaning. Let recurring objects, color schemes, or body language do thematic work for you.

Final Thoughts

What makes graphic novels such a visceral, emotional medium, especially to share heavy themes like suicide and mental health with adolescents, is their ability to blend what is seen with what is said. But too often, writers underestimate the seen. We rely on words when what’s truly needed is space: a panel with no dialogue – just art that holds a truth too complex for speech.

As a non-illustrating graphic novelist, your job isn’t just to write what happens, it’s to know when not to. That’s where the story breathes. That’s where it becomes art.

Check out Jyoti Chand’s Fitting Indian here:

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The post When Silence Speaks: Letting the Illustrations Do the Talking in Graphic Novels appeared first on Writer's Digest.

(Find more Killer Writers conversations here.)

In this conversation, I chatted with Paul about the two questions writers ask most: How do you write a graphic novel, and how do you get it published?

“Paul, let’s start with the basics. A lot of people look at a graphic novel and think, ‘Isn’t this just a screenplay with pictures?’ But it’s not, is it?”

“No, it’s not. It may look like a storyboard at a glance, but a graphic novel is its own language. One of the biggest misconceptions is that it’s just a comic book with delusions of grandeur, or that it’s a screenplay in panels. The truth is, comics have their own grammar. It’s a medium, not a genre. That means it can contain fiction, nonfiction, memoir, fantasy, journalism, anything.”

“You’ve said that historically, many of the most compelling comics have come from creators who both write and draw their own work.”

“Exactly. There’s a long and rich tradition of cartoonists being auteurs: handling the script, the drawing, the pacing, the tone. Think of Garry Trudeau, Charles Schulz, or Art Spiegelman. When you do it all yourself, the work has a singular voice. But there’s also a long-standing industry model, especially with superhero comics, where the labor is divided: writer, penciler, inker, colorist, letterer. In that assembly-line model, everyone has a lane. So, if you’re a writer who doesn’t draw, you’re not disqualified, but you do need to understand how the parts work together.”

“Let’s talk mechanics. If I’m writing a script for a graphic novel, what should it actually look like?”

“I recommend that every page of your script corresponds to a finished page in the book. Page one of your script should contain the beats for page one of the final artwork. That helps everyone stay on the same page literally. You also need visual acuity. You’re not just writing dialogue. You’re directing. You should know what the characters look like, how they dress, what era they’re in. You have to describe each panel’s setting and action in vivid detail, even if you’re not the one drawing it. For example: ‘Panel 1: The General enters the saloon, pushing through swinging batwing doors, ten-gallon hat crooked, dust clinging to his coat. His boots echo on the wooden floor.’ That tells the artist what to draw and gives the mood. If you don’t include that, you’ll end up with a generic guy in a blazer walking into a sports bar.”

Check out Paul Karasik’s Paul Auster’s The New York Trilogy here:

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“That’s the opposite of screenwriting, where we’re trained not to direct on the page.”

“Exactly. In screenwriting, you’re not supposed to step on the director’s toes. In comics, you’re the director, unless you’re collaborating. Then you’re co-directing. Either way, your job is to get what’s in your head across clearly. Even if you don’t draw, you need to think like a visual storyteller.”

“So, let’s say I’ve written a script. I don’t draw. How do I find an illustrator?”

“First, you need to read. Lots. We’re living through a golden age of graphic novels. You can walk into any bookstore or library and see dozens of styles. Study the work that resembles your tone or subject matter. Is it cartoonish? Realistic? Fantasy-based? Memoir? Figure out the look you’re after, then find artists working in that lane. Then, go deeper. Who published that book? Who was the editor? Publishers are risk-averse by nature. They like what’s already worked. So, if you approach an editor who published a successful memoir-in-comics and your project is similar in tone or format, you have a stronger shot.”

“Should writers approach artists directly, or go through agents or publishers?”

“There are a few routes. You could try to partner with an artist up front. Many graphic novels are pitched that way, as a team. Or you could query a publisher with a script and a visual style reference and let them help pair you with an illustrator. Either way, you need to know what kind of book you’re making.”

“What should a writer include in a submission packet for an agent or editor?”

“Keep it simple and professional. Cover letter, synopsis, and sample pages. If you’re the artist too, send the first finished chapter and a clear outline of the rest of the book. If you’re just the writer, send a few sample script pages that demonstrate you understand the format, and include links or images of the kind of art you envision. You’re not locking yourself in, but you’re showing you’ve thought it through. Don’t overdo it. Agents and editors can usually tell within a few pages whether a project is viable. Sending them a 100-page proposal won’t help; it might hurt. Be clear, be professional, and don’t misspell anything. Seriously.”

“Is it better to query editors directly or to get an agent first?”

“Get an agent. A good agent is worth every penny. They already know who’s buying what. They can get your work to the right person faster than you can, and they’ll protect your rights. If your book gets foreign interest, film rights, or reprint deals, they’ll handle that too. You don’t want to spend your creative energy chasing contracts and payments. That’s their job.”

Click to continue.

“Any tips on how to find a literary agent who represents graphic novels?”

“Look at the acknowledgments section of graphic novels you admire. Authors often thank their agents. Or check Publishers Marketplace and see who’s repping whom. There are agents who specialize in graphic novels now, especially with the genre’s growth into schools, libraries, and mainstream bookstores.”

“When a writer and an artist collaborate, how is ownership usually split?”

“It varies, but in many cases, it’s a 50-50 partnership. That’s something to discuss up front, ideally with a contract. You’re co-creators. If one person walks, the book doesn’t get made. So respect and clarity matter.”

“And if a writer doesn’t have an artist in mind, should they still include visual references in their pitch?”

“Yes. You want to show the agent or editor that you understand how this story should feel. Include a scan or two from books that capture the tone or look you’re after. ‘This is the vibe I see for the visuals’ is often enough.”

“You’ve mentioned that your own books tend to find you.”

“That’s true. I don’t sit around trying to guess what the market wants. I do projects I’m compelled to do. Some are deeply personal, like The Ride Together, about growing up with my autistic brother. Others are conceptual, like How to Read Nancy, which is kind of a textbook in disguise. I follow the project, not the paycheck. It’s not a great business strategy. But I’ve never published a book I didn’t believe in.”

“Sounds like the auteur approach.”

“That’s one way to put it. Sometimes people get confused when I talk about my work, because it’s all over the map. But then I say, ‘I’ve been in The New Yorker,’ and suddenly it’s, ‘Oh! You must be legit.’ That name opens a lot of doors, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“Any final advice for someone who wants to enter the world of graphic novels?”

“Yeah. Don’t do it unless you can’t not do it. This isn’t a get-rich field. It’s hard. You will face constant rejection. Every week, I send 10 to 12 cartoon submissions to The New Yorker. If I’m lucky, I’ll sell three or four a year. That’s it. Why do I keep sending them? Because I have to. It’s a compulsion. It’s who I am. So, if you’re doing this because you think it’s trendy or easy, don’t. But if you’re doing it because you have a story you have to tell, and this is the only way you can tell it, welcome to the club. We’re all figuring it out together.”

____________________________

Two-time Eisner Award winner, Paul Karasik, began his career as the Associate Editor of Art Spiegelman and Françoise Mouly’s RAW magazine. His work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, and The New Yorker. https://www.paulkarasikcomics.com/

The post A Conversation With Paul Karasik on The Graphic Truth: Writing, Pitching, and Publishing Graphic Novels (Killer Writers) appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Publishers Weekly named Mike a “Fall 2014 Flying Start.” In the same year he won the Society of Illustrators Original Art Show Founder’s Award. Mike’s debut young adult graphic novel, Flamer, was awarded the 2020 Lambda Literary Award for LGBTQ Young Adult and the 2021 Massachusetts Book Award for Middle Grade/Young Adult. Follow him on Instagram.

In this interview, Mike discusses how the friends he made in the early 2000s helped inspire his new graphic novel, Gaysians, his hope for readers, and more.

Name: Mike Curato
Literary agent: Brenda Bowen
Book title: Gaysians
Publisher: Algonquin
Release date: June 3, 2025
Genre/category: Adult fiction/graphic novel
Previous titles: Flamer, the Little Elliot picture book series; Where is Bina Bear?
Elevator pitch: Gaysians features four gay Asian friends who navigate love, identity, and friendship in Seattle during the early aughts. It is a fierce, funny, and tender story of queer resilience and self-discovery.

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What prompted you to write this book?

I like to write what I want to read, and there is a lack of queer Asian centered stories in Western culture. Gaysians is inspired by a group of friends I made when I first came out and moved to Seattle in the early 2000s. Most of them happened to be gay and Asian, and I’d never felt so seen and understood in a three-dimensional way before. This book is an homage to them and the concept of chosen family.

How long did it take to go from idea to publication? And did the idea change during the process?

I conceived of the idea for Gaysians in 2020. I am a big fan of The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan, and I used that as a jumping off point. Originally it was an ensemble cast of six characters whose lives were all woven together, but the first draft was too long. So, I edited down two of the main characters to supporting roles and took parts of their plotlines and distributed them to some of the main characters. I think the final story really benefited from shrinking the main cast, but I sometimes fantasize about a spin off for the two who were downgraded. That said, the original goal for the book, a story centering the queer Asian American experience, remained intact.

Were there any surprises or learning moments in the publishing process for this title?

I’ve been working in children’s publishing since 2012. This is my adult debut, and in a lot of ways, it felt like starting from scratch. It didn’t matter that I’ve built up a strong network and a reputation as a hard worker over the last decade, I am still a bit of an unknown in the adult world. There were many editors we pitched who passed on the book. This isn’t something new or surprising to me, but it’s been a long time since my trusted agent has had to pitch my manuscripts to other editors, as I’ve worked with the same children’s editor for many years. It was a good reminder about how hard it is to get a book published, even when you know it’s good. As with dating, it’s all about finding the right match. I’m so grateful Algonquin and I found each other. [insert heart emoji]

Were there any surprises in the writing process for this book?

I think I learned a lot during the writing process, especially from interviewing so many other queer Asian people. While I myself am gay and Asian, I am also writing about a lot of other identities that are not my own. People shared personal stories about their experiences being Asian American, as well as being a part of a specific ethnic community. There is a trans character, which is also outside of my experience. Listening to all of these different perspectives not only shaped the storytelling, but enhanced my original vision. There were some really beautiful surprises, cultural customs I learned about, which proved to be handy tools and emotional touchstones in the book. I could also start to see some similarities and patterns in people’s experiences, but I also saw a beautiful array of differences. While the book tries to capture a common experience, it is also trying to show that we are not a monolith.

Most of the other surprises occurred while creating the art. Surprise! Adobe Fresco does not let you import multiple files at once, so I had to upload hundreds of sketches one at a time. Surprise! Sometimes that program crashes out of nowhere and I would occasionally lose several hours of work! Surprise! My original plan to print everything in two Pantone colors was not going to work with the technique I was using. And of course, surprise/no surprise, the artwork took. For. Ever. I always try to pad my time when illustrating, but this book was a beast I had not done battle with before. It’s very long (375 pages) and very detailed. I also wanted the characters to look more realistic than cartoony, because it was important for me that the characters really look to be of Asian descent. It took a very long time to find models.

What do you hope readers will get out of your book?

I primarily wrote this book for queer Asian people. I wanted to make something for us. I wanted us to be seen and celebrated. I did not grow up seeing anyone like me centered in a story. People like me were either relegated to the sidelines or not mentioned at all. To see yourself represented can make such a huge impact on your self-confidence. There’s more than enough room in this world for us all to be ourselves. I also wrote this for everyone else, so they could get to know us better, so they could witness our struggles, our strengths, and our humanity. I have found that even though I have written some stories that could be considered niche, there are deep universal themes at play. When someone reads about a character with a completely different background, but eventually finds common ground with them, that’s a pivotal moment. It stitches our existences a little closer together, and that breeds empathy, something the world can never have too much of. We’re all just people. We all want to be seen; we all want to be understood.

If you could share one piece of advice with other writers, what would it be?

Something I always say to aspiring writers is to write honestly and vulnerably. If you are not moved by your own work, your reader won’t be either.

The post Mike Curato: Write Honestly and Vulnerably appeared first on Writer's Digest.

We all suffer too.

(Fracturing Fairy Tales to Jumpstart Your Writing.)

Pain, trauma, tragedy are all parts of life. Mine included. My childhood was not an easy one. I faced poverty, domestic violence, racism, homophobia, abandonment, and home instability. So when I started writing, all I wanted to do was craft other worlds full of magic mages and rowdy robots and awesome action-adventure apocalypses. I wanted to escape the real world. But after my first 14 novels were rejected (and we’re talking hundreds of rejections from agents, editors, and lit magazines), I decided to try something new. I decided to embrace the hard stuff. It was time to stop running from my childhood. Instead, I chose to pull it in close and give it an uncomfortable hug. 

That’s when I wrote Free Lunch, a memoir of my first sixth grade semester confronting violence at home, my parents’ difficulties finding work, and being put on the free lunch program. As my 11-year-old self would have said: “Life sucked.” Though I tried to find some humor, for the most part, the book was not a fun read. But it felt necessary, and unlike anything I’d written before, it felt important. So when I went out with it (fingers crossed), I hoped for a book deal. Instead? Rejections across the board, though three came with caveats…

The first said, “Why are you writing this for children? Make it for adults and I’ll take it.” 

The second said, “Graphic novels are hot. Let’s make it a graphic novel. Of course we’ll have to take out all the violence. We can’t show that in a middle grade book.” 

And the third said, “Wow. Great story. An important story. But let’s scrub all the heavy stuff out and make it fun!”

As difficult as it was, I said, “No.”  

Holding the Line for a Difficult Story

Why? This was a chance to get published! To finally have a book deal! And I’m not a diva. Compromise and collaboration are an important part of the publishing process. (After all, a good editor will make you look a lot smarter than you are. And I know because I was an editor for 15 years, and now I have some of the most amazing editors and am grateful for them every day.) But changing my memoir would alter it from a true story to a fictional story. And more importantly, it would be just like so many other books already out there that are “made for kids,” which is just code for “nice and easy.”

I pushed back with the third editor, saying, “Clean it up? It’s not a dirty story. It’s a true story.” 

The editor’s reply? “Kids don’t want sad stories. They want happy stories. They want stories that they can laugh at. They can’t resonate with a heavy, dark, painful book like this.” 

In my head, I thought, “But I lived through it… does that mean my story—and my childhood—are not valid?” Why did this story deserve to be ignored? Because it needed more jokes? Maybe a fart? Which, by the way, there is a fart in there, with disastrous and hilarious results. But it was the truth, and sometimes the truth is grossly hysterical. And sometimes the truth is just painful to witness.  

So I read that editor the statistics: Today, in the United States, there are 3.5 million who face domestic violence on a weekly basis. There are 4.2 million living with homelessness or home instability. And there are 11 million children living below the poverty live.

The editor ghosted me after that. 

The Best Stories Are a Spectrum

As a kid, I wanted to be with the Hardy Boys on their ridiculous adventures. I wanted to skip along the yellow-brick road with Dorothy, the Lion, the Scarecrow, and the Tinman as they faced flying monkeys. I wanted to fall alongside Alice down the rabbit hole and into another world. I wanted to join Calvin and Hobbes on their imaginary escapades. I wanted to escape. But that’s because I felt so utterly alone. There weren’t any stories out there that I could see myself in. So I opted for fantasy. 

But as an adult, I was writing stories for the younger version of me. And yes, I wanted adventure and I wanted laughs. But on occasion, I wanted tears too. Because tears are part of life. Life is, at times, hard. But it’s also fun and sad and angry and afraid. Life is a spectrum of emotions. And I believe that the best stories are a spectrum too. They encompass all of it: the good, the bad, and the ugly. And of course, the farts. 

In children’s literature—especially among educators, librarians, and booksellers, there is a common metaphor about readers either seeing themselves or seeing others in literature. This concept was originally coined by Emily Style in 1988 and then applied specifically to children’s books by Dr. Rudine Sims Bishop in her 1990 article “Mirrors, Windows, and Sliding Glass Doors.” Kids love fart jokes, but they love seeing themselves in books just as much. Maybe more. Because if they see themselves in stories, they feel seen too. 

That’s why creating strong narratives with universal emotional arcs is so important. It’s no easy feat, but it is possible, especially if you draw from your own life experience. In baring your soul and your pain, you become vulnerable—which, trust me, is an uncomfortable feeling—but you also become a hero to these kids who so desperately want to know they aren’t alone. 

So whether I’m writing superhero comics, fantasies, reimagining classic novels as modern-day teen graphic novels (full of foolish drama and trying to decide what outfit to wear), or memoirs about trying to pop a zit on my back… whatever I write, I try to build well-rounded characters living in a real world. Being honest, being raw, being truly open with the hardest parts of living, matters now more than ever. Especially in literature for young readers.

But there should be laughter too. There should be hope. And—if you’re so inclined—there should be smelly, stinky farts, especially the ones in public when everyone smells it. Cause farts are funny. 

Check out Rex Ogle’s (as Rey Terciero) Dan in Green Gables here:

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The post Writing for Kids: The Balancing Act of Fart Jokes and Difficult Topics appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Read voraciously and make your own comics, no matter how “bad”; you are learning a language and you need to speak the language yourself before you try to have someone else speak it on your behalf. Comics, like film, is a semiotic language. Read The Creator’s Guide to Comics Devices, by Reimena Yee. Seek both literary complexity and readable clarity and find the balance.

(7 Tips for Writing an Impactful Cartoon.)

Remember that your audience is extremely literate in graphic novels, more than you were at their age, because the MG GN boom was recent. Make sure you are on their level rather than worrying about bringing them up to your level. Expect your work to be taught in a classroom and include enough material for a semester.

Challenge your kids and watch them rise to exceed you. Be a good teacher.

2. Respect your audience.

As middle-grade authors we are fantastically lucky. Our audience is passionate and impressionable. We are speaking to very young people during a time in their lives when media becomes deeply important to them. Books are a rare kind of communication where our conversation partners cannot speak back to us, especially when they’re so young, so it’s even more important to take their feelings seriously.

We are their teachers and our characters are their friends. If our work is deeply important to them, it might even be their home right now. So treat your audience like they’re smart and kind and serious and they will reward you with passion. You want them to gnaw on the book. You want them to sleep with the book under their pillow. That’s how much enthusiasm we are capable of earning. Get hungry for it!

You’re the first person who has to gnaw on the book due to overwhelming passion or nobody else is gonna gnaw on it. You’d better gnaw or I’m gonna be mad. Mad at YOU.

3. Be brave!

Remember that we are not subject to a standards and practices department! If you’re reading enough middle grade to be able to write one, then you know that middle grade is where the wildest books are written. Middle grade is bombastic, its feelings are huge, so you must be brave or readers are going to be able to tell that the book is afraid of them.

Your editor and their boss are the only people who can say no to you about your story, but if they’re good they’re here to help you tell your story. No regulating body exists to check up on you. Make that count and say what you really mean.

4. You are the director. You are the actors.

If you’re drawing the book yourself, and even if you’re not, remember that ability to direct and stage scenes and the ability to make your characters act like actors are more important that any nebulous quality of “drawn real good” your art might possess. If it looks really good but you can’t tell what’s going on, that’s not a good story.

Click to continue.

5. Getting an agent is the most helpless and vital part of the business process.

You’re not going to enjoy it, but you have to get agented and work with a publisher or libraries and schools are not going to be able to find your book. Getting agented is really hard. The main thing is making sure the agent is available for query and following the rules the agent lists for how to query them. This always takes a while and you will “fail” to get picked up many times. Keep going. Don’t let it make you think that your book sucks.

6. You’re taking them on a theme park ride.

I build stories with catharsis as my priority. It’s like designing a theme park ride. You want to control the movement of the ride so that you are setting your audience up for the ideal experience. I am trying to create the largest and most expansive emotional catharsis possible when I work in middle grade because that time in your life is a very helpless time. Kids don’t have a lot of outlets for enormous emotional catharsis and they crave it. So learn how to create it.

For a given story, there exists a version of it that produces the absolute highest amount of satisfaction. That satisfaction depends on the rhythm of events and how they build to your climax. I’m not talking about happy or sad, I’m talking about satisfying. Emotional catharsis is satisfying. Romance that begins or ends is satisfying. Solving a mystery is satisfying. But what I’m really saying is that setup and payoff are satisfying.

Study work that is so good that you forget to study it while you’re experiencing it. How does this work become so engrossing? How does it control your emotions and hold your attention so well? There is a rhythm to stories that can do this as opposed to stories that cannot do it. Study the rhythm.

7. Read everything you can find of Octavia Butler’s writing advice and do what she said. She was correct.

Check out Aliza Layne’s Beetle & the Chimera Carnival here:

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(The Novelization of a Comic Book Character.)

Getting more kids to read? That idea appealed to me! And creating an illustrated graphic novel sounded like fun. So I embarked on writing one. I had no plans to be the illustrator of my graphic novel, but I knew I would be doing some drawing because I just can’t help myself. I’m a visual person.

(A couple of quick terms: Storyboarding is a planning tool for mapping out the main events and flow of your story in small sketches. It’s a starting point for making a Book Dummy, which shows layout and pacing, how your story unfolds across pages, and how your art and text will work together.)

It took me four months to finish that first graphic novel, which turned out to be a 140-page silly, superhero, sci-fi, school-based, friendship tale titled Fart Boy and Reeky Dog. I storyboarded it, then dummied it, complete with text and simple pictures, never intending to be its illustrator. (Cue sighs of relief from editors everywhere.) But the time I spent storyboarding and dummying was worthwhile.

Because when I showed my graphic novel dummy to my editor, it was understandable for her in a way that a text-only manuscript with notations could not have been. And just as importantly, making a dummy had helped me understand my story and get it right. My hard work paid off in the form of a two-book graphic novel deal with Penguin Random House for Fart Boy and Reeky Dog (pub date April 8, 2025), plus a sequel to come in 2026. Both books are illustrated by the amazing Rafael Rosado.

Everyone storyboards and dummies differently, but here’s the nitty gritty of how I do it. First, I storyboard the basic high and low turning points of my story start to finish (about 15 pages). I do this numerous times, filling in more and more blanks, addressing questions, and causing the story length to expand. I begin to enlarge to bigger dummies, adding more words, action, and scenes requiring art positioned inside boxes, circles, and other shapes.

I begin to tighten everything. My stick figures get a little more understandable. I hone words and actions. Is all of this storyboarding and dummy-making labor intensive? Yes. But it can unlock and free your imagination. As you fill your story boxes with art and text, notice how simple your language becomes because much of your story action is told visually, with less and less narration needed. Eventually, if you give it your all, fingers crossed that your work will grow into a full-fledged graphic novel!

What’s that? You say you can’t draw? C’mon, you liked drawing when you were a kid, right? You can do it. Create your books on a graphics tablet or using pencil and paper—your choice. I hadn’t yet mastered working on a tablet with my first Fart Boy and Reeky Dog book, so the dummy I sold to Penguin/RandomHouse was a low-tech endeavor involving scissors, clear tape, #2 pencils, erasers, lots of 8½ x 11 inch white paper, tracing paper, a photocopier, determination, and some late nights. It worked.

If you do decide to storyboard and/or dummy, be aware that some illustrators won’t want to be influenced by your drawings, and so will prefer not to see them. In case you’re wondering, the ratio of illustrators who have appreciated my dummies as helpful jumping-off points vs. those who did not want to be influenced, has been about 50/50.

Either way is fine with me because every one of them has done a fantastic job! So my advice if an illustrator takes on your book, is to sit back and simply wait to see what amazing things your graphic novel or picture book manuscript can become in the hands of a truly talented artist!

I hope I have inspired you and that you’ll give some of these ideas a try. Best wishes for some great storyboarding outcomes!

Check out Joan Holub’s Fart Boy and Reeky Dog here:

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Name: Lucas Turnbloom
Literary agent: Judy Hansen
Book title: Steve L. McEvil and the Twisted Sister
Publisher: Crown Books for Young Readers
Release date: March 11, 2025
Genre/category: Children’s Graphic Novels
Previous titles: Steve L. McEvil; Steve L. McEvil and the Second Wind; Dream Jumper: Nightmare Escape; Dream Jumper: Curse of the Harvester
Elevator pitch: When a 12-year-old supervillain wannabe and his friends get lost somewhere in the galaxy, it’s up to his genius sister and the family cat to bring them home and prevent the destruction of Earth. That is, if she feels like it.

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What prompted you to write this book?

I have been drawing cartoons my whole life. Whether it be stories about flatulent robots and sassy cats, to unflattering caricatures of my supervisors at the day job, it comes naturally to me. So, when Crown said they would PAY me to write and draw the Steve L. McEvil trilogy—a series about a family of inept supervillains, a housekeeping robot, and a cat with a serious attitude—I couldn’t pass that up. The only catch was I couldn’t draw caricatures of my production team. I reluctantly agreed.

How long did it take to go from idea to publication? And did the idea change during the process?

Steve L. McEvil and the Twisted Sister is the third book of the McEvil trilogy. So, by the time we got to this book, my team and I had a good grasp of the characters, and the story just flowed. I should note it was helpful that I knew exactly where I wanted to go with each book, how Steve would pass the supervillain torch to his sister, Eve, and most especially the big reveal at the end. All-in-all, each book in the McEvil trilogy took around a year from idea to publication. Let me add that deadlines really have a way of keeping you focused. Are you a lollygagger? This probably isn’t the profession for you.

Were there any surprises or learning moments in the publishing process for this title?

I worked as a graphic artist for more than 20 years before I began working as a professional writer. So, I know a thing or two about working with inept editors and production crews. This was absolutely not the case with the McEvil team. Everyone knew their job, and how to make the best books possible. I couldn’t have asked for a more professional art and editorial team, and I am eternally grateful. We made some amazing books!

Were there any surprises in the writing process for this book?

I have found that if you love telling stories, the characters become real to you. The McEvils became very real to me, like family. So, when I finished the last page of Steve L. McEvil and the Twisted Sister, I wept uncontrollably. I didn’t realize until many months later that I was in a kind of mourning and wasn’t ready to say goodbye. That really took me by surprise.

What do you hope readers will get out of your book?

Laughter. Copious amounts of laughter. I want Steve L. McEvil and the Twisted Sister to be something kids read repeatedly, discovering something new and hilarious each time they do. But most especially, I hope these characters will find a special places in their hearts, allowing the McEvils to live on forever.

If you could share one piece of advice with other writers, what would it be?

You know that story idea you’re thinking about right now? Do it. Stop thinking about it and just do it. If your brain is saying, “I’m not in the right headspace now,” or “Maybe I’ll start tomorrow,” those are amateur thoughts, and doesn’t gel when you’re facing deadlines. There is NEVER going to be a better time to write than now, so do it. If you commit to just 30 minutes of writing a day, you would be AMAZED by what you produce by the end of the month. And if you’re worried that your idea has been done before, stop worrying! It totally has, no question. However, it’s not IF an idea has already been done, it’s what YOU do with the idea that makes all the difference. So, you know that sign you’ve been waiting for? This is it. Get started.

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(Prose Fiction vs. Graphic Novels.)

In adapting a long running comics character for the prose medium, I learned some valuable tricks of the trade. It’s certainly been an interesting convergence of the two formerly separate paths my writer’s life has taken.

Growing up in a small town in Ohio, I was a huge fan of comic books, but as far as I knew they were produced in New York City, that might as well have been on Mars as far as I was concerned.

But prose was everywhere around me, and I was reasonably adept at it as a kid, writing short stories and starting (and not finishing—sound familiar?) a dozen novels before leaving for college. I went to Syracuse University to study filmmaking, since in my youthful arrogance I figured I didn’t need anyone to teach me how to write prose, and, again—comics seemed like an inaccessible industry to me.

To my shock, I discovered I couldn’t stand the tedium that went along with making movies—dressing sets, waiting for the sun to rise or set, lugging around heavy cameras and lights—and instead I fell in with the guys who were studying to become illustrators in SU’s comics club. I wrote short comics scripts for them and reveled in the magic of those images coming to life under their pens. After graduation, a few of us decided to move to Mars—er, New York City, and break into the industry.

Break in I eventually did, in a manner that would be better served with its own article, and I’ve written six New York Times bestsellers on the comics lists and counting, including one, Cowboys & Aliens, that would be made into a movie.

As my comics fame grew, publishers began approaching me to write prose, a skill I hadn’t exercised in any great amount since I was in school. As I began work on what would become my first published novel, Ten Dead Comedians, I fell in love with the written word all over again. Two more novels, The Con Artist and Never Sleep, followed.

Then, something interesting happened: The fantastic publisher of Never Sleep, Blackstone, acquired the novel rights to the stable of Valiant Comics, the third biggest universe of superhero characters behind venerable Marvel and DC. They wanted to know if I’d take on one of their titles. I leapt at the chance.

Bloodshot is one of Valiant’s most popular and exciting characters—you may recall the movie with Vin Diesel from a few years ago. A super soldier injected with microscopic nanomachines that heal him from any injury and let him communicate with any machine, like most superheroes, Bloodshot has gone through a number of incarnations since he was created by Kevin VanHook, Don Perlin, and Bob Layton in 1992.

Even though this was a prose novel, the first thing I did on taking the assignment was what I always do when taking on a new comics character: I read pretty much every story about him I could, trying to wring from that gestalt the essence of the character, what made him unique and interesting to me, and (hopefully) the reader.

I knew going in that Valiant and Blackstone wanted a completely fresh take on the character, something separate from any pre-existing comic (or movie!) that would attract legacy fans and brand-new readers alike. So I had the freedom to create my own Platonic ideal of Bloodshot, that perfect distillation of the concept.

The most interesting aspect of Bloodshot, to me, was the idea that as a side effect of the nanomachines coursing through his veins, his handlers in the shadowy pseudo-government agency that created him, Project: Rising Spirit, could erase his memory with each mission. Just as his body heals instantaneously from wounds, his conscience heals instantly from any regrettable actions he might have been ordered to do on any mission, because his bosses just use a giant chalkboard eraser on his brain and get rid of any memories that might cause trauma. That meant a soldier with no PTSD, but also, less attractively, a soldier with no real sense of who he was.

As a writer I have long been fascinated by memory, and its primary role in making up our sense of self—who we are, after all, is the sum of where we’ve been and where we want to go. Here I knew I had my hook. What would happen to Bloodshot if his short-term memory was wiped but his handlers weren’t around to help him fill in the long-term blanks afterward? What if he wakes up with no memory of who he is, or what he’s supposed to do?

That led to another conclusion—I should write this book not just in the first-person, from Bloodshot’s point of view, but in the first-person present tense. That put the reader in the mind of someone who had no past, tense or otherwise, but only had the present—he lives in the eternal now.

The other aspects of the plot fell in quite quickly after that, with the idea that Bloodshot is found amnesiac in the woods by a young woman, Kalea, and her younger brother. At first they think they’re helping him, but pretty soon they are on the lam from Project: Rising Spirit themselves, who not only want to get their assassin asset Bloodshot back—they also want to get their hands on Kalea too, who has mysterious powers of her own, and are linked to an underground network of superpowered young people that sees Bloodshot as the ultimate bogeyman. Bloodshot then becomes their protector.

Along the way, Bloodshot will have to solve the mystery of his own identity—and he may not like every answer. As the tagline for our book says (which, full confession, I ripped off the 2012 comics revival of the character): He can trust no one, not even himself.

What makes prose different from any other storytelling medium is its ability to bring us into the mind of a character, to show all events strained through their consciousness. I found that the biggest challenge for me returning to prose after years of pretty much exclusively writing comics scripts was to continually remind myself that I had to be that consciousness. I had to fill in every visual detail myself; I couldn’t leave something unsaid for an artist to fill in later. The shade of orange in the autumn leaves; the expression of that woman crossing the street wearing sunglasses—all of those things were my responsibility to flesh out. Nobody else was going to do it for me.

In comics, the writer conducts the orchestra. In prose, the writer is a one-person band.

Of course, all good prose writing is visually evocative writing. This is doubly true when adapting comics to prose. In my years in comics scripting, I tried to be as sparse as possible in my descriptions, both to make it clear to the artist what I wanted, and also to give them as much leeway as possible in bringing those images to life. That led naturally to a staccato, rat-a-tat prose that lends itself to the heart pounding action scenes and chase sequences that I know Bloodshot fans will be expecting when they pick the novel up. (The first-person present tense gives an incredible sense of urgency to every scene!)

That’s been the best part of this experience: learning how to use the best aspects of each medium to create the best adaptation of a comics character that I can. It’s certainly done nothing but increase my love for crafting both comics and prose, and I hope thriller readers and comics fans alike dig right into Bloodshot when it drops in January. 

Check out Fred Van Lente’s Bloodshot here:

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(Stan Lee’s 1947 Guide to Writing and Selling Comics.)

Segura has been open about the demands of being a full-time writer, and some of his productivity must stem from those outside pressures. But he’s also passionate about a wide variety of styles, finding unique ways into new spaces. Alter Ego confronts the realities of making a living from art with unexpected honesty. Protagonist Annie Bustamante explains, “Comics had chewed me up and spit me out, and at the moment I wasn’t sure I wanted to go for another twelve rounds.” Still, Segura’s own love of comics shines through in every chapter of this enthralling mystery novel. For Writer’s Digest, we talked about moving between genres, overcoming writing fears, and learning from other artists.

You made a bold choice to set the sequel to your award-winning Secret Identity decades in the future. What prompted that decision?

I think it was the feeling that the story had more to unfurl, if that makes sense. Without spoiling too much about the ending of Secret Identity, it felt like the protagonist’s story, Carmen’s story, was mostly resolved—but there was one thread that needed to be touched on. So my editor, Zack Wagman, suggested an epilogue to Secret Identity. When I wrote that, though, I realized there was an entire, other chapter to the saga that needed to exist—but also couldn’t be from Carmen’s perspective. So that’s where Alter Ego came from.

Comic book readers and mystery readers are voracious—and can be particular. Did you have any worries about combining these two worlds in either Secret Identity or Alter Ego?

I didn’t have any worries, and I was actually really grateful to hear from readers of comics who weren’t mystery fans but found themselves transported into the genre by the book, and similar feedback from novel readers who had a limited comic book experience. If there was one big worry with Alter Ego it was making sure the story not only counted—but needed to exist. I think, as a culture, we’re wired to think every story merits a sequel or trilogy or series, and I’m a firm believer that stories can end, and things can be resolved. So I struggled with that—and my answer was to make Alter Ego feel like its own thing, with some connective tissue to Secret Identity, but also the ability to stand on its own and have its own story to tell. I think we succeeded, but it’s up to the readers!

Early in Alter Ego, you write, “Comics were meant to be read, not embalmed.” It made me wonder how you see the comic book industry changing as new writers and illustrators emerge. Or—I almost hate to even mention this—AI interferes.

Well, AI isn’t art—it’s a mish-mash of art that makes something else. It cannot create an original idea or thought, and will never replicate that creative spark that artists create. But I think that was more me referring to collector culture—which is a big part of comics: getting your book signed then slabbed in plastic and forever frozen in time. It appeals to a lot of readers and I’m happy to sign those books for them, but for me—and for Annie, I believe—as a fan, it was always about reading the comics and enjoying the story. I rarely thought about the value of my comics or keeping them in pristine condition. Maybe I’m not good at business!

Your books seem to be love letters to the creators of comic books but also send-ups of the industry at large. How do you strike a balance between these impulses?

I think I just try to reflect it honestly. Every industry is flawed and has bad actors and not-great moments in its history. Comics is no exception to that. But there is a wonder and power that keeps readers connected to the medium, so I didn’t want to discount that. In fact, it’s the wonder and awe that propels the book, I think.

We did an event together recently, and an audience member had a compelling question about intellectual property. He wanted to know about the responsibility you might feel while writing an entry in a beloved series like Star Wars or Daredevil.

It’s a huge responsibility, because you’ve been handed the keys to this nice toy or car or whatever metaphor you want to use, and it’s your job to not only do something cool with it, to entertain, but to not break it or mess it up. It’s a balancing act—but also a fun writing challenge. My default is to usually go back to the core of the character, to what appeals to me as a reader or what brought me into that character’s world as a fan, and try to recapture that. Because I think everyone’s attraction to a story or character is slightly different, so that might present a unique opportunity for people to engage with your take. So many of these characters and worlds have complex and detailed canons and continuities, so the bigger challenge is sifting through those stories and trying to see what matters most and what should be reflected. What are the stories you can’t ignore? Which are the stories you can use to make your own? It’s a really wonderful and unique way to write.

What’s it like to move between writing genres? What do you take from comics into crime fiction and vice versa?

I love writing in different mediums and genres, and comics and novels are quite different—but they help each other. I think writing in comics has helped me write more visually with my prose, in that I write to the imagination of the reader. I don’t over-describe or fall into hyper detail with my prose, unless the plot demands it. Like, I won’t spend pages describing someone’s clothes, unless it’s material to the plot. In comics, the artist brings that to life, and in my head, the reader does it for prose. With comics, prose has taught me to value each word, and that’s extra valuable in comics where you have a certain amount of space per page, per panel, per balloon—so you have to make those count. It’s almost like a structured poem. So they all feed into each other which is fun when you realize it’s happening.

You’ve also recently published a science fiction novel, co-written with Rob Hart, Dark Space. What was new about that experience?

I think the world-building, and the level of time and detail that went into that, before Rob and I even got to the bigger plot, was a surprise—but it shouldn’t have been! We had to think of every aspect of life, from scientific to geopolitical to social. It was fascinating and a lot didn’t necessarily make it onto the page, but it had to exist.

Any other genres you might like to try?

For sure! I’ve got a few nonfiction things in the hopper, and I’d love to take a stab at a horror novel at some point, if I can get over my own fears. Ha!

You seem to be turning the loner writer stereotype upside-down. What appeals to you about collaborative ventures, which coincidentally are also central to Alter Ego.

I love learning from other writers and artists. I love peeking into their processes and, selfishly, adding new things to my own toolkit. My hope is that I pass along my own fun tricks of the trade to them, too.

Check out Alex Segura’s Alter Ego here:

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