Location Choices In Short Stories And Webcomic Updates – A Ramble

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Well, since I’m busy making a webcomic mini series for next month and also seem to be spending quite a bit of time playing a computer game (called “Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines”) at the time of writing, I thought that I’d take a look at another interesting thing that playing games can teach you about making webcomics, writing short fiction etc…

One of the interesting things about many computer games is that, although they might contain quite a few levels or even a large “open world”, there are always limits on where the player can explore. Most of the time, this is done for purely practical reasons (eg: a game company might have the time and/or budget to build a large city for the player to explore, but it might only contain 20-100 buildings that the player can actually enter.)

Whilst some games take the “open world” approach, many other games limit the player to exploring smaller areas in order to provide a much more focused and “deep” experience. For example, although “Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines” contains quite a few complex buildings that the player can explore, it only contains about four “open” areas, each of which only consists of a few streets. This allows the game designers to focus more on making these smaller outdoor areas interesting, whilst helping to ensure that the player doesn’t get too lost whilst exploring.

This focus on a limited number of locations is something that is worth bearing in mind if you’re making webcomics or writing short fiction.

If you’re writing short fiction or making a 3-8 panel webcomic update, then the main focus needs to be on things like humour, storytelling and characterisation. What this means is that you should probably only include 1-3 different locations in each comic update or short story. Because you don’t have too much room, you need to focus on locations that are actually relevant to the story.

So, with short fiction especially, choosing a location can often be a surprisingly important thing. For example, this short story of mine is about a futuristic city that has experienced a power cut. Although other locations are mentioned in the story, the events of the story take place within a single room. This allows me to focus more on both the characters and the story than if I’d tried to write about lots of different things happening in different places.

Plus, by focusing on a very limited number of locations, you can also spend more time describing those locations in detail. Detailed descriptions of one or two locations will make your story more dramatic and atmospheric than if you try to describe a larger number of locations in much less detail.

Likewise, if you’re making webcomics, then using a more limited number of locations can be a good way to save time (eg: drawing the same simple background multiple times is quicker than having to plan and draw lots of different backgrounds) and also to give your webcomic a lot more “personality” too. After all, familiar recurring locations can often become part of what a webcomic is about.

Of course, the problem with doing this in a webcomic is that using the same backgrounds repeatedly can be visually monotonous. But, there are lots of sneaky ways to get around this.

For example, in dramatic panels, you can use a solid black background – this places emphasis on the character who is talking, it’s quick to draw and it adds some visual variety to the comic update too.

Likewise, if a character is talking at length about something, then you can use a “cutaway” panel – just add the narration to a box at the top of the panel and then add a small illustration of whatever it is that the character is talking about. Here’s an example from the upcoming webcomic mini series that I’m preparing at the time of writing:

 The full comic update will be posted here on the 28th November.

The full comic update will be posted here on the 28th November.

So, yes, looking at explorable areas in computer and video games can teach you the value of only including a small number of relevant locations in your short stories and/or comic updates.

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Anyway, I hope that this was useful 🙂

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Three Tips For Writing Subtle Horror (That I Learnt From Playing A Computer Game)

(Sorry about all of the recycled title art, I was busy making a webcomic [for late November] at the time of writing)

(Sorry about all of the recycled title art, I was busy making a webcomic [for late November] at the time of writing)

Well, with Halloween only a couple of weeks away, I thought that I’d write another article about the horror genre. In particular, I thought that I’d focus on how to write subtle horror.

This was mostly inspired by the fact that, a few days before writing this article, I’d bought and had started playing a classic mid-2000s gothic horror computer game called “Vampire: The Masquerade- Bloodlines” (Note: This article may contain some mild SPOILERS for it).

Although it’ll be a few days until I review this game properly, one of the interesting things about it is that there don’t really seem to be any moments that will really make you jump or make you feel intensely terrified. Seriously, even moments that could be jump scares just tend to seem more like joyously affectionate tributes to the horror genre. Like this:

 To be honest, I'd be more surprised if creepy writing HADN'T  suddenly appeared on the wall of this haunted room!

To be honest, I’d be more surprised if creepy writing HADN’T suddenly appeared on the wall of this haunted room!

But, if you play it for a while then it can leave you in a slightly bleak, apprehensive and creeped-out kind of mood afterwards. In other words, it’s the perfect example of subtle horror done well. The horror is so subtle that you don’t notice it at the time (since you’re too engrossed in the game’s story etc..) – but it gradually builds up over time.

But, how can any of this stuff translate into horror fiction? Well, the game contains a lot of very interesting horror techniques. Here are three of them – the first one is kind of obvious, but the other two are techniques you might not have heard of before.

1) Atmosphere and worldbuilding: One of the best ways to add subtle horror to any of your stories is to make the “world” of your story slightly creepy and/or menacing. This can be done through lots of subtly disturbing and/or depressing descriptions. But, it’s also worth thinking about the “atmosphere” of your setting as a whole.

For example, although “Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines” is set in a really cool-looking film-noir version of early-2000s Los Angeles (which is reminiscent of the TV show “Angel), this location is shown to be a place where crime is rampant, where everyone has some kind of agenda, where shadowy conspiracies move in the background etc.. In other words, it’s a bleak and hostile environment. It’s a place that feels hollow and menacing. But, this isn’t immediately obvious to the player, since it looks so amazingly cool on the surface.

All of this horror seeps into the player’s imagination through lots of subtle details. Whether it’s comments from some of the background characters you encounter, whether it’s the ominous disused buildings you see sometimes, whether it’s the fact that your character has to keep their vampiric nature hidden from ordinary people etc.. all of these things add up to a suitably creepy atmosphere. Even if, on their own, none of these things would be particularly creepy.

2) Dark comedy… with a sting: One of the best ways to introduce some subtle, creeping horror into your story is to include some dark comedy which makes the audience laugh at first, until they eventually happen to think through the implications of what they’ve just been laughing at.

For example, your character in “Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines” is a vampire and, as such, has to drink blood occasionally. One way that your character can obtain blood is to discreetly buy it from the blood bank at the local hospital. The medical technician selling the blood is pretty much the dictionary definition of “probably a serial killer”. The fact that a character like this is somehow working in a hospital without anyone noticing, is a classic example of subtle dark humour.

Of course, later in the game, you can save someone from being drained of blood by this guy. When he notices that you’ve done this, he indignantly storms off in a huff and refuses to sell you any blood unless you find him another victim. The way that this scene is scripted is absolutely hilarious in about the most twisted way possible. But, when you actually think about it a while later, it’ll probably send a shiver down your spine.

The trick to adding a bit of a sting to the dark humour in your story is to make sure that the comedic parts rely heavily on both implications and on character reactions, but to also show some of the reality of whatever horrible events are or were happening. So, when the audience eventually stops laughing, they have something to be horrified by.

3) Morality and circumstance: One way to add some subtle creepiness to your story is to place the main character and/or the supporting characters in situations where they pretty much have to do something immoral.

It doesn’t matter whether this action is illegal or not, it has to be immoral if it is going to disturb the audience (eg: a private detective breaking into a building to solve a serious crime might be illegal, but not always immoral – and it is a common non-scary part of the detective genre. On the other hand, the private detective having to work for someone slightly dodgy because they need the cash would be legal, but immoral.. and much more disturbing).

Contrary to what critics of the horror genre might say, a lot of horror is horrifying because the audience has a moral compass.

Going back to the game I’ve been talking about, there are almost too many examples of this to list. Although it’s probably theoretically possible to play the game as some kind of paragon of virtue, the ridiculous difficulty of doing so pretty much forces you to play as a slightly evil character. In many situations, the “evil” choice is actually presented as the easier or more rewarding one. Even though the game does contain a morality system, it has countless blind spots and a generous tolerance for “breaking the rules”.

And this is how the game can creep you out in a subtle way that you don’t even notice until you’ve been playing for an hour or two. Because you’re so immersed in the events of the story, and so eager to progress – you’re more likely to make moral decisions which, when you think about them later, will leave you feeling slightly disgusted at yourself.

So, yes, morality is a huge part of the horror genre. If you find a way to place a sympathetic character in a situation where they are forced to act immorally (even in a subtle way), then you’ll be able to creep out your audience in a fairly subtle way.

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Anyway, I hope that this was useful 🙂

Fast Writing, Style And Formats – A Ramble

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Although this is an article about writing styles and formats, I’m going to spend most of this article talking about an obscure mid-19th century horror novel that seems to be surprisingly modern in a lot of ways.

The day before I wrote this article, I ended up reading the first few chapters of “Varney, The Vampyre – Or, The Feast Of Blood” by James Malcolm Rymer and/or Thomas Preskett Prest (the exact authorship in somewhat hazy).

I don’t know how much of this book I’ll end up reading, since my physical copy of it is over 1000 pages long! But, since it’s out of copyright, it can also legally be read for free online on sites like Project Gutenberg etc…

So, what’s so special about this book?

The first thing which really caught me by surprise was the Dan Brown-style short chapters – which were written over a century before “The Da Vinci Code” was written! This was, of course, an artefact of the “Penny Dreadful” format that the book was originally published in. Since individual chapters were published in pamphlets on a regular basis, they needed to be written quickly and to contain a cliffhanger ending to entice people to buy the next chapter.

The fascinating thing about these “modern-style” fast-paced chapters and intriguing cliffhangers is that they still “work”, despite the slightly old-fashioned narrative style that Prest and/or Rymer use. Even 170 years later, they still make the novel a lot more compelling than the average novel from that era.

But, unlike modern thriller novels, this choice of chapter length and format was chosen for purely practical reasons. Printing technology at the time meant that the pamphlets had to be short (if they were being sold for a penny) and that there needed to be more time set aside for typesetting and printing. Likewise, if a couple of issues didn’t sell well, then the serial would be left unfinished. So, the cliffhanger endings for each chapter were more of a practical necessity than anything else.

Another interesting format-based thing in “Varney, The Vampyre” is that (according to the introduction in my “Wordsworth Classics” reprint), it was apparently dictated by the author rather than typewritten or handwritten.

This actually explains a lot about the narrative style used in the story since, although it uses third-person narration, it reads a lot like someone talking very quickly. The narration jumps between the past and present tense at random, there are occasional asides from the author and – like with anything written quickly – the focus is more on the content than the style.

This choice of format also means that the novel is surprisingly “cinematic” for something that was written before the invention of film. Instead of the masses of exposition and character history that you’d expect in a novel of this age, there’s a lot more focus on dialogue, action, drama and visual descriptions. Again, this makes the novel seem a lot more modern than you might expect. In fact, the first chapter almost reads like a description of a scene from a 20th century horror film.

Because, if you’re dictating a novel at speed – or even typing a novel at speed, then you don’t have time for lots of rambling exposition. You don’t have time for extensive character histories. You need to tell the story. And, since it was published in a medium where boring the audience meant going out of business, this was another reason not to waste time on pointless details.

Of course, despite all of this modern-style writing, the novel is still very much of it’s time. For example, several of the characters use flintlock pistols. Likewise, the way that the narrator describes the vampyre’s first victim sounds very creepy (and not in a good way) by modern standards. Plus, the narrative style is still a little bit on the formal side of things at times.

But, this aside, even the first few chapters of this novel are a fascinating example of how the format of a story can affect how it was written. In order to remain in publication, it had be made quickly, read quickly and be fascinating enough for people to want to buy the next instalment. Although modern publishing doesn’t really have those concerns, modern thriller novels are either influenced by and/or have to compete with more “intense” things like films and games, so they also use lots of clever tricks to keep the reader interested.

Plus, since “Varney, The Vampyre” was probably dictated, rather than written or typed, the narrative “flows” in a much more ‘natural’ way than handwritten/typewritten novels of the time do. Since it actually had to be spoken aloud, the narrative has a much more ‘natural’ sound to it. Of course, modern fiction also tends to use elements of this style – but this is more because modern writers and publishers understand the importance of making their stories “accessible” to ordinary readers.

Still, it’s absolutely fascinating how the practicalities of writing a novel in the 19th century have had so much effect on the actual story itself.

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Anyway, I hope that this was interesting 🙂

COMING SOON! Halloween Stories & Comic :)

Well, with Halloween approaching, this means that it’s time for my usual Halloween stuff 🙂

This became something of an annual tradition when I wrote an interactive novella and made a comedic horror comic in 2015. In 2016, I made another comedy horror comic and wrote some short stories.

So, what can you expect this year?

– Another Comic 🙂 : Starting on the 20th October and concluding on Halloween, there will be a new daily comedy horror comic called “Video Nasty”, starring the characters from my webcomics. Here’s a preview of it:

This is a panel from my upcoming Halloween comic, which starts on the 20th October 🙂

– Retro sci-fi Horror Stories 🙂 : Starting on the 21st and concluding on the 30th, there will be a daily series of ten “Retro Sci-Fi” horror stories. Think neon, rain, mega-cities, flying cars, crackling radios etc… These were kind of interesting to write and, for the first time in literally ages, I even used third-person narration occasionally. Here’s a preview of the title graphic from one of the stories:

This short story series will run from the 21st-30th October 🙂

And here’s a spine-tingling extract from that story: ‘The air was filled with anguished howls, counterpointed crudely by the furious buzzing of an industrial saw. Above the cacophony, cackling laughter crackled through the air.

So, yes, there’s lots to look forward to here in the days leading up to Halloween 🙂

Four Benefits Of The Non-Interactive Nature Of Art, Comics And Prose Fiction

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Well, I had planned to write another article about computer and video games, but I thought that I’d flip this subject on it’s head and talk about some of the advantages that non-interactive creative mediums (eg: art, comics, traditional prose fiction etc…) have.

And, yes, I know that there are interactive types of fiction out there (like this gamebook-style online story I wrote in 2015,) but I’ll be looking at traditional fiction – in addition to art and comics here.

So, what are the benefits of creative works that aren’t interactive? Here are a few:

1) Flow and control: One of the great things about non-interactive creative works is that they flow seamlessly in a single direction. If you’re looking at a painting, you can just look at the whole painting. If you’re reading a (non-manga) comic, then the next panel is always either to the right of or below the one you’re currently looking at (or on the next page). If you’re reading a novel, then you just have to turn to the next page once you’ve finished a page.

Because linearity is an assumed and accepted part of traditional mediums, they provide the audience with a seamlessly flowing experience. In addition to this, it also gives you (the artist, the author etc..) much greater control over the pacing. For example, if you want to “speed up” a comic page, then include little to no dialogue. If you want to “slow down” part of a prose fiction story, then you can add more descriptions, fewer actions and/or slightly more complex language.

One of the problems with interactive mediums (like games) is that getting the flow of the story right can be way more difficult. If a game is too linear, then it feels like the designers are either patronising the player or aren’t taking full advantage of the interactive nature of the medium. However, if a game is too non-linear, then it can be easy for the player to get confused and/or stuck during various parts of the game – which can lead to frustration and a wish for the game to just get on with things.

Thankfully, in non-interactive mediums, there’s no such thing as “too linear” and no way for the audience to get “stuck” either.

2) What you can show: Since the audience for a non-interactive work doesn’t have any control over what happens in a story, comic, painting etc… they will only see what you, the creator, want them to see. Although this sounds like it would be a limitation, it can seriously increase the quality of a work.

For example, you can give the impression of a large, complex fictional world within a shorter story by only describing one location (where the story is set) in detail, whilst making brief and intriguing references to other locations that aren’t shown. In a comic, you can focus on drawing the more visually-interesting and/or easy to draw locations. In a painting, you have total control over what angle the audience sees the contents of the picture from etc…

In interactive mediums, the designers have to account for the player’s choices. In other words, they have to spend more time designing places that are meant to be explored (rather than seen or described), and which look visually interesting regardless of where the player’s character happens to be standing at any particular moment. They also have to adjust the dialogue and the events of the game to account for player choice. In other words, there are a lot of other things that they have to plan for – and not only does this mean that there’s a greater chance that they will make a mistake, it also means that they can’t spend as much time on each individual element of their project.

So, yes, not having to worry about interactivity means that you can focus more on improving the quality of whatever you decide to show the audience, rather than having to worry about a hundred other things too.

3) Dramatic weight: One of the advantages of non-interactive mediums is that you have a lot more control over how significant or dramatic any element of your story or art is. For example, you can use the lighting in a painting to emphasise particular parts of the image. You can describe your characters’ thoughts and emotions in a story. You can devote an entire page of a comic to a single dramatic image etc…

With interactive mediums, the designers have to account for things like gameplay too. As several videos about game design have pointed out, it’s difficult to add dramatic weight to a violent scene in a game if the player has just spent the past hour fighting countless adversaries. It’s like the old rule about profanity in fiction – the more you use it, the less “dramatic” it becomes.

Likewise, if a designer tries to add “suspense” to a game by placing a time restriction on part of the game, then not only will this frustrate the player if the time limit is too short – but, having to re-play the same segment of the game again and again (until the player wins) will quickly drain any sense of dramatic weight or suspense from that part of the game.

Because non-interactive mediums don’t have to worry about gameplay, they have a lot more freedom when it comes to adding things like dramatic weight, suspense, emotional power etc..

4) The interactivity is more interesting:
Although I’ve described things like prose fiction, art and comics as being “non-interactive”, this isn’t entirely true. Sure, the audience can’t directly interact with these things – but they can interact with them in all sorts of fascinatingly indirect ways.

For example, if a story, collection of art or a comic is good enough, then it’s going to influence other creative people. They’re going to blend the best elements of your work with their own imagination and style in order to create something totally new. And, since it’s influenced by the things you made, you’re probably going to enjoy reading it too 🙂 In addition to this, if you produce something that someone really likes, then it’s possible that it might inspire them to become an artist, writer etc…

Since fully interactive mediums are complex, expensive things to make, the chances of an audience member becoming inspired enough to make something new are a lot more limited. Most ordinary people will be restricted to just modifying existing games etc.. And whilst this does have parallels with modern-style fan fiction and fan art, it doesn’t have parallels with things like original novels inspired by other novels, original comics inspired by other comics etc…

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Anyway, I hope that this was interesting 🙂

Creativity DOES Matter – A Ramble

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If you make art, write fiction etc.. it can sometimes be easy to think that it “doesn’t matter”. That what you’re doing is ultimately insignificant in the grand scheme of things and is little more than a glorified hobby. It can be easy to think of regular art or writing practice as being some kind of meaningless chore. It can also, on a larger scale be easy to think that “the arts” or “the humanities” don’t matter to the world as much as many other things do.

This couldn’t be further from the truth. Creativity does matter. However, it often matters even more to your audience. To give you an example, I’ll spend the next three paragraphs talking about an experience with being part of the audience for a creative work that I had shortly before writing this article.

The night before I wrote this article, I finally discovered a computer game that I should have discovered a long time ago. Although it might be quite a while until I review it properly, it’s a game from 2004 called “Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines”.

When I loaded this game for the first time, just to test if it had installed properly and whether it would run on my old computer, I suddenly ended up playing it for three hours straight. I hadn’t planned to, but it almost seemed like it was a game that was made specifically for me…

Because it had been a while since I last had an experience like this, it really caught me by surprise. But, it’s a testament to the power of creativity. After all, thanks to a combination of words, images, music and programming code, I literally spent three hours glued to my computer screen in a genuine sense of hyper-enthusiastic amazement.

I suddenly had vivid nostalgic memories of the year of my life when I discovered one of my favourite novels (“Lost Souls“) and the gothic rock genre. My imagination was suddenly firing on all cylinders and I felt more creatively inspired than I had done recently. All because of some computer code that a few people had written over a decade ago.

Chances are, you’ve had an experience like this at some point in your life. Whether it was a novel that you ended up reading cover-to-cover in a single night, whether it was a song or a comic that literally brought you to tears (of joy or emotional catharsis) because it seemed to have been written about you, whether it was something that amazed you so much that it’s influenced everything you’ve created (or, even better, motivated you to start creating things), whether it was a story that totally changed your opinions about something etc… You’ve probably experienced something like this.

Yes, different things will evoke this kind of overwhelming emotional reaction in different people (so, it’s not something that artists, writers etc… can plan to do). But, the fact that it happens to anyone at all is proof of both the power and the importance of creative works.

Yes, creative works might just look like words on a page, drawings, paintings, programs, recorded sounds etc.. but they’re much more than that. They have the power to make us laugh, cry, cheer, scream, gasp, jump with joy, understand ourselves better, think about the world differently, feel like we’re somewhere else etc…

They can teach us things that formal education cannot, they can shape our imaginations in ways that life experience cannot, they can make us think, they can transport us to other places, they can teach us more about ourselves, they can even shape the direction that our lives take (I mean, you’d be hard-pressed to find a writer or an artist who didn’t become a writer or an artist because they’d seen something amazing and thought “I want to make things like that!”) etc..

So, yes, creative works matter. Yes, they might often be seen as “frivolous” by hardened cynics, but they can sometimes have just as much of an effect on all of our lives as politics, science, technology etc… can have. If they didn’t, why would they still exist? Why would they have existed for pretty much as long as humanity itself has?

Why would despots and dictators be so afraid of books, films etc.. that they feel the need to ban them? Why have phrases from 16th Century Shakespeare plays entered everyday language? Why were a lot of advancements in computer technology driven by people wanting games with better graphics? Why do a lot of modern technologies (eg: automatic doors, tablet computers, 3D printers etc..) bear a suspicious resemblance to imagined ‘futuristic’ technologies from “Star Trek: The Next Generation”?

I could go on for a long time, but creativity matters.

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Anyway, I hope that this was interesting 🙂

Learning From A Failed Project – The 1990s Stories

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When you write or make art, then you’re going to make mistakes and fail sometimes. It happens to everyone. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Not only does it mean that you’ve tried something a bit different, it also means that you’ll be able to learn from your failures too.

So, in that spirit, I thought that I’d give an example of learning from a failed project. If you aren’t interested in reading about the many ways I failed at a writing project, then just skip to the final paragraph for some general conclusions.

Earlier this year, I posted a series of short stories set in the 1990s here. In contrast to the previous two short story collections that I’d written (which can be found in the “2016” section of this page), this one only lasted a mere five stories before it ran out of steam.

The first sign that it was something of a mistake came from the fact that it took me a few days to work up the enthusiasm to start the project after I’d had my initial idea for it. Usually, when I have an idea for a project that is going to go well, it’s the sort of thing that I have to start working on right now. But, this was different. It was a cool idea and I wanted to make it, but it didn’t really have the impetus that these kinds of projects usually have.

At the time, I didn’t think to refine the idea until it provoked these hyper-enthusiastic feelings in me. Instead, I mistook my mild enthusiasm for technical problems. After all, I was writing historical fiction – a genre that I haven’t really written in before. So, I thought that I’d have to spend some time working out how to write these stories. For some writers, this sort of thing leads to good stories. But, for me, too much slowness tends to drain the life from a project.

Another problem was the fact that I’d tried to write relatively ordinary stories about ordinary life. This is a genre that I usually consider to be “extremely boring”. But, I’d thought that the historical nostalgia elements would help to keep it interesting. They didn’t. Yes, ordinary life was slightly different in the 1990s, but it was still fairly.. ordinary.

This, of course, made coming up with interesting story ideas surprisingly difficult. One of the main advantages of genres like science fiction and horror, and stories that are set in stylised versions of the real world, is that you can use your imagination to come up with all sorts of strange things to add to the story. You can create entirely fictitious settings that are more imaginative than realistic. You can add futuristic technology, unrealistic events etc… and see how your characters will react to them.

I’d always known that there was a reason why I preferred to write in “unrealistic” genres and this failed project reminded me about this. It gave me an actual physical example of what happens when I try to write the kinds of stories that don’t often interest me as a reader.

The other problem was probably the research. As fascinated as I am with the 1990s, I quickly realised that most of what I knew about the decade came from second-hand sources. After all, I was only a young child in the 1990s. So, whilst struggling to come up with story ideas, I ended up focusing more on things that are related to the media than anything else.

After all, since my preferred writing style tends to be fast and regular, I pushed myself to write one story per day. This didn’t leave a huge amount of time for research. So, I ended up setting many of my stories in fairly generic locations, with only a few subtle details that implied that they were set during the 1990s. So, again, this reminded me of how much easier it is to write stories that are set in entirely fictional locations.

Likewise, it reminded me of the difference between writing and other forms of creativity. Whenever I’d made art or comics that were set in the 1990s (like this one), I’d always gone for a stylised version of early-mid 1990s America, because it looks cool. Of course, fiction is a non-visual medium that relies a lot more on descriptions.

So, I actually ended up relying on my childhood memories of mid-late 1990s Britain (and things from that time and place that I’d watched or read) quite a bit. This led to the project having a totally different style and tone to what I had expected. Most of the stories were set in 1996-9, which didn’t really seem as fascinatingly “historical” as I’d originally expected. If I’d paid more attention to the differences between visual art and the written word, I could have come up with a better idea for this project.

The common thread in all of this is that you tend to produce your best work when you know yourself well and know where your strengths lie. But, on the other hand, you’ll only learn about this if you fail a few times. So, don’t be afraid to fail!

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Anyway, I hope that this was useful 🙂