Alex Segura on the Stories You Can’t Ignore
Alex Segura is a chameleon, transitioning between genres with enviable dexterity. Or perhaps a better metaphor is his own creation, the Lynx, 1970s secretary by day and superhero by night. The Lynx was introduced in his award-winning crime novel Secret Identity and now springs to life in a graphic novel. In a fun wink to the reader, The Legendary Lynx is being marketed as a reprint but is a wholly original creation (written by Segura and illustrated by Sandy Jarrell) to accompany Segura’s latest novel, Alter Ego. This metamorphosing author has also recently co-authored science fiction with Rob Hart and completed a Daredevil novel, the second entry in Marvel’s new crime fiction series.
(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 of 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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