There’s an excellent interview with Warren Ellis at Newsarama (kudos, by the way, to Chris Arrant for conducting a really refreshingly non-fanboy conversation). If you skip down about halfway through, you’ll see Ellis talking about things that, in my twenty-five plus years of comic reading, never heard a writer discuss: specifically, the really in-depth minutiae of the craft. The fascinating read of this article isn’t about plot, plot-spoilers, the muse, or anything like that, but how Warren approaches each story with the artist in mind — it’s like a writer tailoring his script to take full advantage of the actors, the director, the cinematographer, etc.

Perhaps this is obvious to everyone else. Me, I’ve always approached writing from the standpoint of the story, the words, the characterization. Even now that my primary medium is screenplays, the only difference is that I plan on the actors giving their own take on things and potentially changing a line or rearranging the words to feel more natural. If I were to write a comic — well, I’m not certain that I would do much differently, outside of trusting that the artist would have a good eye for the cinematography that I suggested (and didn’t).

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, other than to say that I think that this is why Ellis is one of my favorite writers (regardless of medium). I wouldn’t say that he is flawless, or even one of the best ever (though I think the whole “best writer” thing is bullshit opinion — sure, there is a distinction between good and bad writers [and I’m talking on the extreme ends of the spectrum], but provoking me with ‘Dickens is “good” and King is “bad”‘ leads to a moot argument that I’m not willing to have. Because Dickens is good for insomnia, and that’s about it.), but I’ve always found him instinctively one of my favorites, even when writing things that wouldn’t normally appeal to me (Transmetropolitan, for instance, only really grabbed me because of Ellis’ voice).

I read somewhere recently that there’s one of those rebellious, outsider-type artists — I’m going to guess that it was Johnny Depp — who was spoken of by some director as being brave for continually challenging himself rather than taking the easy path for paychecks. Maybe it was Keanu, actually…

Being an artist — in any medium — means finding your voice. You can be a craftsman, sure, and adopt a voice, or find a path that doesn’t require a voice. There’s nothing wrong with that, I’ll posit, because at least then you’re getting to do what you love (in theory) for a living… and that’s a helluva lot better than doing something that you hate, or that bores you to tears, or that goes against your ethics. But being an artist, one that will be remembered with more than passing nostalgia, one that will earn the respect of peers and audiences, requires finding a voice. Perhaps that voice is best for singing other people’s material, or making popcorn movies; or it may be so odd and unique that it only is ever appreciated by a handful of people. It doesn’t matter, though, because finding that voice is one pinnacle of the creative person’s journey.

Once you’ve found that voice, then you can spend your time studying your medium, perfecting your craft. I don’t think that you necessarily have to do one before the other — god, I hope not, as I’m still trying to coax my voice to the surface in any number of areas — but I would guess that those who are fortunate enough to find their voices early have a much more natural affinity for the craft than those of us that don’t.

It’s not about financial success. That would be nice. I’ll never argue that, but the voice doesn’t guarantee success. If you’re lucky, your voice and the public go together hand in hand. If you’re most artists, you’re gonna get a Rusty Nail, and I’ll tell you as a bartender and drinker that those that prefer (or can even stomach) the Rusty Nail are few and far between. If you want success, go for it — adopt the voice that sits comfotably and easily with the public. And if your true voice sits well with the public, be grateful and realize how lucky you are.

Either way, never stop pushing. That’s the point of all this, I think.

Or maybe that I’m ready for a vacation.