Just Say No

Getting a crap offer like this this late in my career drove me to tears.

This happened about ten years back, and now that the trail has gone cold, I can share this story of comics publishing woe.

I was offered a really cool job by an up and coming media company with deep pockets.

Not deep enough to pay creators a top rate, but deep.

I was asked to adapt a classic fantasy novel into a comic series which would then be collected into a graphic novel. It was something I would enjoy, and the page rate was OK, but not great. However, it would pay me decent money to do a story that would be really beautiful to draw, and I was looking forward to it. And since it was an adaptation of a public domain work, it would be another creator-owned feather in my cap.

At the same time, another project which was creator-owned that had been long delayed finally came through. I could not do both projects, so had to say no to the public domain adaptation.

The client asked if I might be available for another classic novel by this author later. I was into it. If the job could be pushed back a year or so, I'd be available.

Working on this other book at the same time I was working on a major project for Neil Gaiman might be a squeeze, but I was pretty sure I could handle it.

Then I got the contract.

I could not believe it...it was work for hire.

For an adaptation of a public domain novel.

Seriously?

I thought there must be some mistake. I read it over and over.

In addition to the draconian language, there was no back end compensation at all, and it seemed to read that the client had the right to all the original art.

I must say, I was a bit put out.

I can handle a lower page rate if the client is not buying all rights to the work, but this client was getting everything, possibly even the art.

Well, no.

Even so, I wavered. Because I just wasn't sure I could say no to the money. Even this mediocre money. Again, this was years ago. I was just coming off a decade of health problems too. I worried I wouldn't have the luxury of saying no.

So, I agreed to negotiate. I went over the contract problems with the client, thinking I couldn't afford to lose the gig, and they assured me they were open to changes. 

1) The client was paying creator-owned money for work for hire. If they wanted to buy all rights, they needed to pay for those rights. 

I wanted more money.

2) There was no back-end compensation. No royalties, No licensing money. The media company was clearly looking at using the art in multiple mediums, with the end game being an adaptation of the work for film using the comic as a springboard.

I would get nothing out of this.

3) The dicey language about turning in the art for publication made it appear as if the client was getting the original art to keep. While I had no issues with the client getting digital files (they needed them to print,) I wanted it clear that I owned the original, hand drawn art.

4) Language regarding changes in the work needed to be pinned down: it seemed to say I would be required to make any changes at any time without further compensation.

There was a lot of other stuff I won't get into, but that was the gist, and that was plenty. Even if I needed the money, I'd really be better off doing something simple for Marvel or DC instead of a complicated adaptation that would underpay me and treat me like a hired hand.

The client came back repeatedly expressing a strong interest in meeting my needs, and said they were very anxious to keep me on the project. So we discussed my concerns, and after some weeks, I got a revised contract.

Which managed to be even worse than the first one.

1) The job remained work for hire, but though the page rate went up, that was only because they agreed to pay me a separate rate for the color. 

Yay.

More pay, but still under standard.

2) The back end compensation was kind of hilarious, because I have to assume someone in their legal department doesn't think I can do basic math.

Now there was a basic royalty structure, but only after I'd completed the first three issues of the project. Once I hit that goal, I'd get paid a 1% royalty on the wholesale price of the project - not the retail price, as is standard. I'd get paid about a penny a book, but only after the project had earned out 120% of what I'd been paid in page rate. 

At cover of standard comic price whacked down to wholesale, it would have to sell around 4,000,000 copies for me to see one red cent of royalty (or around 600,000 per issue, assuming the accounting was per issue and not cross collateralized, which I'm sure it would be). The royalty structure would go up to a whopping 2% of wholesale if I completed the whole series (meaning I'd only have to sell around 2,000,000 copies to see a royalty, yay!) but even so, it was a ridiculous number that would require Harry Potter-like popularity to compensate me fairly on the back end. 

Moreover, there was nothing to prevent the client from firing me 1 page from completion, which would keep me from getting paid the royalty that required I complete half the series to earn it. They could hire someone else to finish the work and fire them one page from completion halfway through, too, ensuring no artist got a royalty, ever. 

This is a very common gig economy dirty trick which I learned while getting ripped off by one of my very first art clients as a teenager. 

I don't know if this dirty trick was their intention, but why take chances.

Also, any royalties, licensing fees, etc. for anything except books were specifically excluded. Nothing from movies, posters, TV, limited prints, nothing.

3) The dicey language about who got the art was somewhat improved, but not. 

The client now graciously granted me the original art. 

Say what?

The original art doesn't belong to them in the first place. The art does not convey. The client gets the right to reproduce it, as work for hire makes them the creator for all purposes of copyright law. But it doesn't give them my physical art.

So, they have no rights to original art to grant me.

But they did want this: the right to buy my art at $100 per page.

Seriously?

Hell, no.

4) The language about changes in the original art now read that the client could ask for two changes...but what two changes? Per page? Per book? The contract could be interpreted to mean I would have to rewrite and redraw the whole freaking project to suit the client for not one more penny of compensation. There was still nothing in the language to prevent the client from abusing this privilege. And there was no language which spelled out what I would get paid for changes that went beyond the limits of the agreement. Which were so nebulously defined, they could mean anything.

5) While the contract stipulated I'd get credit for the work (gee, thanks,) it specifically stated that if they just happened to leave my name off it, I had no legal recourse.

Just think if Stephen King had a contract like that! "Whoops! Forgot to put your name on the cover of Carrie! Too bad for you!"

6) But wait! There's more!

The client wanted to finance the project on...

wait for it...

On KICKSTARTER!

Are you shitting me?

Wait, you're this corporation, you have all these fat cats pouring money into you, you want to pay me this shit low rate, you want to own every scrap of work I do, you even want a bargain basement rate to buy my original art at decade-old prices...

And you want to finance this with crowdfunding?

WTF!

Look, this is a public domain project. Guess what?

If I want to do this, I don't need your permission, pal. I can crowdfund it myself if I want to.

And there was nothing in the contract about paying me a royalty on the Kickstarter income or on any other retail book sales. Only on the wholesale price.

For reelz. They could raise a million bucks on Kickstarter and I would not be entitled to one red cent. The contract was clear: royalties on wholesale sales only.

Which meant, any mail order sales would also bring in no royalties.

Hilarious.

Also, and this got uncomfortable: they wanted to rope in a celebrity for this project hoping for a tie-in. Some months ago the client contacted the celebrity saying I was involved, lending the project my cred by osmosis, I suppose. I have a tenuous professional connection with this celebrity, and a third party close association with this celebrity. I guess the client assumed the third party's magic would rub off.

A rep from the celebrity - someone I actually do know pretty well - then contacted me. They were being told I was working on the previous book that I'd already turned down. 

Um...

Another artist had already been hired for that. I'd been talking about maybe doing covers for it, but I was not doing the series. Nine months later, I hadn't done a single cover, and never did. I’d only talked about another gig, but had signed nothing and was not sure I would. 

The celebrity backed out.

It's not at all uncommon for people to pull this crap - "Yeah this person is totally down with the project, you should join too!" and then you find out this person was never down with it, and you're stuck with the gig you agreed to based on the association that doesn't exist. 

An old frenemy of mine used to pull this trick a lot. I never knew when I was going to get a call from someone saying "Did you know he guaranteed this or said that?" And I'd be all, "No, I did not agree to that," and then we'd go round and round the hustle du jour. 

Seeing that dude in my rear view mirror is one of the happiest sights of my career.

So after another contract wrangle, I wrote the client, expressed my reluctance as politely as I could, and the client and I parted ways.

While I don't doubt the folks in editorial were sincere, I have no doubts the execs were barracudas, and this sunny little dolphin was happy to swim away.

Still worried I might be shorted financially by turning this gig down, I picked up the phone, called Keith Giffen, asked if he could guarantee me a DC gig if I needed it, and I had one in 5 minutes as an emergency backup.

Being able to say no to this project felt great.

Both the project I was originally offered - the one the celebrity was not involved in, and the second stellar offering from this client - did poorly on every level.

It would be…um…poor form for me to get into details about how those projects looked.

If I ever decide I want to adapt those novels myself: they’re public domain. 

I don't need that client.

Creatives have options these days, you know.