I grew up in a small town, and as a little girl, I always wanted to get out. I was curious, energetic, imaginative. Limited by my space and environment, I turned to writing and drawing as a way to expand my world. I’m now a picture book author with three titles under my belt, yet I find it terrifying that my world is no longer mine.
As soon as I’m done with my writing and artwork, I know what comes next is beyond my control. Before it arrives at the hands of readers, it goes through the printing process – which I’m absolutely terrified of. There is always something I can’t control no matter how many times I’ve test-printed my work and gone over and over again with all the details. The colour might be off. The paper may absorb badly. Did I miss a mistake? Oh boy. There’s no going back with thousands of copies a print at one go.
Then there are the readers.
“Why does this page look like this?”
“It’s my favourite book!”
“I don’t get it.”
“I believe you meant this…”
All of which I thoroughly welcome. But I have to admit, I’m still not seasoned enough to avoid being swayed by every piece of feedback (even the positive ones). I often wonder if I’ve done enough, or too much, or been too unprofessional, or too rigid. Every detail pointed out is something I consider, though each carries a different weight depending on who says it. I can’t help but feel exposed and vulnerable when I put out my best – and most personal – work to be scrutinised.
In many ways, that small-town kid has arrived in a bigger city, and she needs a bigger heart and thicker skin. In this new world, I’ve crossed paths with so many fascinating individuals: teachers, parents, writers, artists, editors, shopkeepers, and little young readers! People I would never have met if I hadn’t become an author.
What kept me going and seeing all my books through their final stages is this: I want to reach out. I long to be seen and taken in. I believe every artist wants the same, and I’m no different. I used to write to pen pals found on newspapers, tucked away in columns dedicated to people who’d want to be writing pals. I would find someone closer to my age, usually a girl, and I would write about myself, what I like and how I hope we can be friends.
I rarely heard back. I’d get maybe one reply and then that is it. Perhaps it’s me, perhaps it’s the unreliable snail mail system. I’m going to assume it’s not personal.
The tendency to reach out and connect with people beyond my circle is all I’ve ever wanted as a kid. It is something that I don’t think I can ever grow out of. At this point in my life, I find it unbelievable that so many of you have received my “letters”, in the form of my writings, my art, and my picture books. You responded with your interaction with what I’ve created – whether it’s revisiting my story from time to time, purchasing and sharing my books, or even reaching out online to connect.
My world is no longer mine, and for all I’ve done to make it make it’s way to you- I think I’ve done my younger self a service in honouring her desire to say hello to a world beyond her own. I appreciate you, my fellow pen pals!
