As an artist, it’s unfortunately very easy to take a bad gig, especially when you’re un-agented. Being an independent artist who’s freelanced with a variety of clients, I’ve worked with folks in and out of the art world that haven’t been the best — so I want to use this experience to help other artists spot a red flag like the ones laid out in this essay.
There are many factors that can make or break a gig, like poor communication, poor pay, or unrealistic turnarounds. It’s an unfortunately common experience for artists. Even in spaces that claim to uphold community, that tout the horn of representation, there are people who exploit the very ones they’re claiming to support. Making a living as an artist is hard enough as it is, and it’s no easier for artists of marginalized identities. When opportunity comes knocking, it’s easy to think whatever work you end up doing will pay off in the long run. Sometimes I want to take a gig because it’s for a good cause, others because I can’t afford to say no, but poor communication, or a lack of communication altogether, will always make for a bad gig. So what does a red flag look like?
Sometimes I want to take a gig because it’s for a good cause, others because I can’t afford to say no, but poor communication, or a lack of communication altogether, will always make for a bad gig. So what does a red flag look like?
While I’m lucky to have an agent now, at the time I took this particular job I was still without one. The gig was initially just flatting a graphic novel for someone I’d illustrated a children’s book for. That children’s book was my first one tied to a publisher; the project was well communicated, organized, had editorial input pretty early on, had a contract between the university the author was affiliated with and me (for payment), plus a contract between the university publisher and us (for rights and royalties). All in all, a good first experience working on something for publication! As a result, I thought this next job together would go similarly. But this gig would, unfortunately, be one of my most frustrating, the biggest issues being the lack of details and poor communication. There wasn’t a tight deadline offered when I’d been approached, no contract details, no specifics for how and when it would be published, and the amount of work left to be done was quickly piled onto me. That’s a lot of red flags!
I was first approached to flat pages for what I understood to be a graphic novel pitch at the start of 2021. There was no contract, and I flatted as I received the inks, which wasn’t actually a red flag to me at the time. Flatting, in particular, is usually “on-call” for most gigs I’ve done and without any contract of any sort—minus one job where the artist, not the publisher, contracted me. It took several weeks to receive pages to flat, and about a month later they stopped entirely. After a couple more months of radio silence, I’d reached out to see what was up and was told by the penciller it was on hiatus, but that it would still continue. I tried to snag a couple of other gigs in the meantime. Despite these issues, and as frustrating as this was even for something as on-the-fly as flatting can be, I stuck it out believing that this book would actually come to fruition.
Despite still not having received any new pages to flat—or any other updates—months later over the phone I agreed to take over coloring in addition to flatting. At this point, I was only given a tax form to sign since I was now being paid with funds from a different university than had been used for my flats. For the previous book, I’d been given an independent contractor’s agreement when I’d been approached to illustrate, a normal professional interaction. After a few of those illustrations were done and reviewed by an editor, I was then given a publishing contract. These details were communicated early on, so from the beginning, I knew exactly how the book would go and what I was in for.
None of that was ever offered or mentioned for this second book, though, even as I took on another role. It was also weird that so much of any info I received wouldn’t come in response to my emails via email, but through on-the-fly calls or voicemails, which made accountability seemingly impossible. For all jobs I’ve done, the norm was email communication to keep a clear timeline of everyone’s agreements, especially if things ended up changing down the road. The responsibilities for a job should be spelled out clearly and concisely from the start of a project and, if there are changes, then they should be articulated in writing to keep track of the extra work and, ideally, extra pay.
Some months later, I was asked to also take over inking because the original artist would no longer be able to finish. Mind you, I hadn’t worked on this book since spring of the previous year and still wouldn’t receive any of the remaining pages for a while. I didn’t have a lot of work on my plate at the time, was still floundering around from my pandemic layoff, and dealing with very painful conditions that left me applying for disability. So despite the lack of clarity, I still felt that taking over work for this gig would probably be my best bet. I figured that, with such a big change, the project would have to become more consistent and structured.
The responsibilities for a job should be spelled out clearly and concisely from the start of a project and, if there are changes, then they should be articulated in writing to keep track of the extra work and, ideally, extra pay.
The same day I was asked to ink, I was requested to send invoices for the total cost of inking, flatting, and coloring the 83-page book. I valued this at $10,336. There was never a budget discussed before or after I’d agreed to more than just flatting, so it was difficult to calculate. I’d just been invoicing after every batch of flatted pages which was usually how it went with other clients. Since our previous book net me $4,500—and I didn’t know better or have an agent yet to help me advocate for more on either book—I came up with the breakdown of rates based on whatever responses I could gather from a comic Discord I’m in, looking through the Creator Resource rates list from 2017, and reading through the most recent Handbook for Pricing and Ethical Guidelines. Now, I explicitly asked about a contract since I’d taken on another role. I was completely ignored.
It was irritating as all hell, but again, without a secure day job or set of comic gigs immediately lined up, and knowing that our previous work together had gone well, I felt all I could do was let it slide and ignore my unease. I like to think that maybe, if I’d been more adamant about the contract question, then I could’ve at least gotten an explanation as to the refusal. Ultimately, I shouldn’t have let a previous experience paint my expectations or let me ignore the red flags like lack of a contract. With the way I was being responded to, I started to suspect that the book wasn’t being published under the same imprint as our first book like I’d assumed, and was maybe being self-published. Obviously, I was having doubts, but it didn’t seem like I’d get any answers if I kept pushing and I wasn’t in a position where I could just quit.
It wasn’t until a month later that I could even start inking because I had to ensure I had all 83 penciled pages. I then had to resize them all, adjust their layouts based on the new size, remove all the flattened dummy text, and redraw any of the pencils that would’ve been behind that text. I was not being paid for any of this, nor was it ever stated that I would need to do any of it before inking. Someone had to, though, because otherwise how could I start my job inking? Did I mention there was no budget for a letterer, so I was also expected to do that? I’m not a letterer. Since there was no budget for a letterer it seemed increasingly unlikely that I’d be paid for all the extra work I was doing, and it was never suggested or requested that I send any additional invoices. The best compromise I could come up with was finding and hiring a letterer myself. There was also no editor assisting thus far.
I hadn’t been given a script when I took over the book, and the only document I’d been given didn’t include any of the dialogue that was on the pages. Naturally, I asked if the author would be providing me with a proper comic script to give to a letterer. After talking to letterers to get a rate estimate, I knew this would be something I’d have to provide. This script question was also ignored. I sought advice from friends and colleagues about how to try and make this situation work since it was clear that I was being ignored and it didn’t feel like I was being taken seriously. Again, nearly everyone told me quitting was the best option. Still, I wasn’t in any physical condition to find a regular job and I’d already blocked out so much time for this graphic novel. I’d signed with my agent in the midst of all this. I didn’t ask for their assistance with this project since I’d begun it months earlier, but, eventually, I accepted I needed help. I had my own graphic novel to write and this project wasn’t paying me with advances, which meant I had to try and find other comic work to make ends meet.
They drew up an agreement that stated exactly what I was hired to do and had invoiced for, setting clear boundaries. I did not ask for more money or time, beyond the time I’d asked for post-health delays, because it didn’t seem realistically possible with how the book had been structured to this point. The reply we received was that my work would end with inks.
While I’d at least been paid for my inks, I was now in the middle of figuring out what the hell just happened. Did I seriously get booted for asking for a contract, for setting boundaries after being rebuffed when I tried on my own, and after doing all this extra, unpaid work? There hadn’t been any explanation provided as to why an agreement hadn’t originally been offered and why ours was being rejected now. When my agent had gotten in touch to initiate an agreement, we were told the graphic novel would be published in the same imprint series that the previous book I illustrated was under. Knowing that, we reached out to the editor-in-chief at that imprint, hoping they might be able to help. Without any contract and the sudden ending of my work, I had no idea what would happen to the inks I did or if I’d even be credited anymore. With all the extra work I’d done, and the time I set aside for this book, I also wanted to settle a kill fee.
Did I seriously get booted for asking for a contract, for setting boundaries after being rebuffed when I tried on my own, and after doing all this extra, unpaid work?
The next month the editor-in-chief at the imprint let us know this book wasn’t actually under contract with them. Knowing that it’s not common for fully finished books to be sold to publishers on the fly, I was left to wonder whether we’d been lied to. Even though the first book’s contracting process was unusual compared to what I knew of graphic novels in traditional publishing, the project overall felt quite secure. This time, though, there didn’t appear to be a process at all because contracts and publication details weren’t discussed at the beginning, or again as my roles grew, both serious problems. With that discovery and no email responses from the author or the university staff who had processed my invoice for the inks, I followed up with them all again offering a new invoice for a kill fee for my time spent. From the vague response we’d received to our agreement, and the overall poor communication that relied on me asking all the questions, it really felt like I’d been roped into doing work on spec and then booted for trying to clear things up and keep myself from doing extra unpaid work.
I refused to give up because I deserved to know what would happen to my work and to be paid for everything I did. It took a while, but I had a phone call with a representative from the school’s legal affairs department that cleared up a lot, including how most of this mess could have been avoided had the author been transparent about the project details and the specific way the book was being published from the very beginning. All I was ever told over email or the phone was that I was being paid with university funds, but never was I informed that that meant I would be tied to the university’s terms and conditions, even without a formal contract. Once the representative explained that, and also took the time to send me the terms and conditions in their entirety, it was revealed that I couldn’t ask for a kill fee because the university is a public institution. I could, however, ask to be paid for all the extra work I did that had gone unpaid. I ultimately valued that at $2500 and was paid a month later. Why the author didn’t bother to explain this or send me the terms and conditions at the start of the project is beyond me.
I refused to give up because I deserved to know what would happen to my work and to be paid for everything I did.
It was also explained that, had the author signed our agreement, it wouldn’t have been impossible to get through the appropriate department. Since they provided an initial work-for-hire contract on our last book, albeit through a different university, why didn’t they attempt that this time? When I asked about a contract months prior, they never explained anything, instead completely ignoring the question and never bringing it up again. At the end of the day, had the author chosen to be professional and properly contract me or not ignore my questions, explain upfront how the book would be published, and explain the terms I was tied to without a contract, then things likely wouldn’t have devolved into the mess that they did. With better communication at the onset, I wouldn’t have felt exploited, I wouldn’t have had to fight to get paid for my work, and a handful of other people wouldn’t have been dragged into this nightmare. Even with collaborators outside comics and outside the arts industry altogether, never had I had an experience so devoid of transparency.
In trying to figure this all out, I learned the original artist also never got an initial contract when they began working. In June, it was finally explained that the book wouldn’t be put on contract with the aforementioned imprint until after colors had begun. Since the book would be under the author’s series with the imprint, they explained that it was “super unlikely” that any book they would want to publish would be rejected, and that after it was put on contract a subvention would be paid to help publish it. None of this was explained to me, or it would seem, the other artist at the start of our work. While this is how our first book went—though I received my contract with the publisher after finishing six of the 26 illustrations I’d previously received a work-for-hire contract for—I was told this very early on. It also was never explained that this was the standard for their series until after this dispute had run its course. Even if I knew I wouldn’t receive a contract from the publisher until after x amount of work had been done, I would have still fought for a work-for-hire contract as had been provided before.
Whether or not this process is standard for university publishers I’m not sure. Still, I can’t wholeheartedly believe that an artist would be getting fair treatment if contracts aren’t being discussed until after all the work is done. Being an artist is also hard enough as it is without the added convolution of university hierarchical management. It’s not fair to be taken advantage of, to have your time wasted, and your expectation of payment squandered. Work like this makes it difficult for artists to be willing to collaborate with authors, and forces artists to take on so much extra work, often without fair pay.
Be it through sheer ignorance or a lack of professionalism, it’s always going to be the artist who loses out in collaborations where communication and transparency aren’t taken seriously.
When I started this job without an agent, I didn’t feel like I had any power to set boundaries. I also didn’t really expect that I’d have to because it was a collaboration with someone I’d worked with before. I operated in good faith hoping this book would go over as well as the first had. The lack of transparency and poor communication from the get-go was a red flag, but I didn’t expect it to get worse. It was over a year of all that, plus the ignoring of my concerns and a growing plate of unpaid work that led to nothing but frustration and drained me of time and energy that I could’ve spent on other gigs that would’ve actually paid me when I needed it. I am eternally grateful to my agent, friends, and the comics community for their assistance and the much-needed push to do something about this. Not everyone has that, though. If you’re new to freelancing in comics or even freelancing period, it’s so easy to get wrapped up in a mess like this and not know how to stand up for yourself, even when you know things aren’t right. Comics is a small enough community already, and if you’re not of the white cishet male majority, it’s even smaller. Be it through sheer ignorance or a lack of professionalism, it’s always going to be the artist who loses out in collaborations where communication and transparency aren’t taken seriously. I wish it were as easy as snapping your fingers and getting an agent, getting a solid answer to a very specific question, or being heard when you voice your concerns.
The best advice I can offer is to trust your gut, stand your ground, and don’t be afraid to seek help. Learn from my experience, set boundaries early, and don’t ignore your own concerns. Artists, and especially marginalized artists, need to be treated better by having their time and labor honored. Refusing to do so only serves to erode trust and make welcome spaces unsafe, doing a disservice to anyone who needs community.
