Metamorphosis

-----I first wrote this stream of consciousness in 2016/2017, i think. 8 or nine years later and i am coming back to give it a little refresh, so here we go----

When I was starting out, I was completely clueless about everything: I had so many misconceptions about being a professional illustrator. I thought it would be a-lot easier. I thought my work was wonderful and I couldn't understand why no one else saw it that way (hint: it was crap) so I fumbled my way through, and eventually realized the truth: this shit is hard. I gained so much more respect for the field, the craft, and for myself as a participant in it. I committed to my growth, invested (read: money) in my kid-lit career.

After a lot of hard work, failure, and some SSRIs, I was able to step up to the next level. I was slightly more self-aware, not so sloppy, not so quick to get defensive of my work. I studied hard. I made a lot of work during this time. I went to so many conferences, retreats, critique groups, I made friends who were doing the same thing as me, I got out there and met some of the most inspiring people I will probably ever meet. It was hard work, but it felt good. And it paid off.

I started to be taken more seriously. I got an agent, I got a book, and I was gaining more subscribers via social media. I somehow was offered a book from a BIG publisher, who paid me a large sum of money. I got along so well with my art director, we had a shared vision, and things were wonderful. I was gaining momentum. Then I met more people and did more things and got a new agent, and got a few more books under my belt. Two of them were made during quarantine, when we all thought we were doomed. None of this was my best work, because I was unwell.

At that time, a major health issue popped up and reared its head, and set me back a great deal. Despite going through very difficult personal times, I was able to do the work, and do it well enough, and it led to more books. I started to feel like less of an imposter and I did what I could to help give others advice and support the way I had been supported in my earlier days, which is one of the things I had always wanted to do in kid-lit, a professional goal. But then I took on too many projects at once, and my health got much worse. I pushed through and somehow finished my author-illustrated debut picture book.

And nothing came of it. It was a huge flop. I remember getting the big box of books, and being so depressed that I cried the rest of the night. Wasn't I supposed to be happy? Feel accomplished? Shouldn't I post this on social media, declaring HAPPY BOOK BIRTHDAY like everyone else. In my mind, it should have been a celebration, but it was like someone had ripped my insides out and stomped all over them as I watched. I thought that I was supposed to go around to book stores, and libraries and schools, but that didn't happen. I now know that if you do any of that, it comes out of your own pocket, you need to reach out and organize the event, you have to make the merch, do all the work. I thought it was going to be a "hey, Lorian, we have a book tour for you, everything is set up." kind of situation, but it was not. It was pure silence, emptiness. This thing that I had cared so much about, worked so hard on, I didn't even want to look at it, it brought me so much pain. I felt so alone. I was burnt out. I took the rest of the year off to rest and was excited to get back to work in the new year, start something new. I was going to meet with my agent and (i thought) we were going to submit my next book.

Nope. My agent dropped me. My personal life CONTINUED to get more difficult. My doctor suggested that I focus on my healing, and so that's what I did. I took a hiatus from kid-lit and focused on getting well.

I was expecting to come back from that break with work to do-- paid work. But I was wrong again. In the time that I was trying to heal my life and spirit, I was swept away by the winds of anonymity. No one seemed to remember me, no one wanted to work with me. I worried that word had gotten out about my disorder, and that I was a pariah in the industry.

But I'm scrappy. I hung on to that last little shred of hope and energy I had left and somehow, landed yet another agent, who I greatly admire. But a year went by and still no one wanted me. It's so hard not to take that personally, and it made me wonder if I should just lay my pencil down, admit defeat, and go work at a McDonalds.

I am still in that hole. I got a part time job that doesn't pay enough and exhausts me to the point where I cannot make art when I get home. (I say 'cannot' make art, because you can always push yourself with self discipline, but that work was shit) Balancing that job, my mothering, my health and wellness, and my shriveling art career is not easy at all. I am in a constant state of self-loathing and insecurity. (And, I am still not recovered from my illness, but I am learning to live around that.)

So, now what? I asked myself what I wanted out of an art career, but I honestly don't know anymore. And so, here I am blogging about it, simultaneously hoping someone reads it and that no one will read it. But that's the key, I think,

I am going to just make art for myself right now. I need to find myself again, I need to remember all I've learned from my experiences, and I need to take action. I'm taking a couple of drawing classes online, and I try to draw something everyday, even if it's just a ten minute little doodle. And that's something.

And that's everything.

So whether or not anyone reads this, or understands what I'm going through, I am still going to write, to create, to make art and share stories, and I HAVE TO do it for myself, not for anyone else, not for money, not to regain the footing I had lost when I got sick, but because that shit needs to come out. It is fighting for its life.

I know my metamorphosis is ongoing, and I know that it's a cycle. I happen to be at a low point, so I feel like there is nothing to lose, which frees me from fear, and allows me to make things that are beautiful. Let's see where life brings me next. I can only go up from here. Would you like to join me?