The Backlog

This blog is officially a mess.  Nope, more than that: my progress is a mess!  That portfolio review bombshell blew me off course for the entire Spring.  (It also didn't help that I caught gardening fever, and spent all of my free time outdoors getting ticks.)  Looking back, I don't even have halfway decent photos of my freshly-minted little portfolio.  Here is a photo of the snowmen valentines.  Not a scan, because I lack a scanner.  Not color-corrected, because this laptop is so cheap that I can't trust it to show me proper colors.  I don't even own PhotoShop.  Instead, I have, sob, the GIMP.

Now I must have photographed the unicorn and treehouse paintings.  But, blast it, I have misplaced them.

Well blargh.

To console myself, here are a couple of the spreads from my dummy book.

Now enough moping!  I have removed the infestation of cardboard boxes and tomorrow I will resume work on the dummy.

Coloring Book Playdate

A while back I used copies of my line art as coloring-book material at a playdate.  Also, you know what's way more fun than crayons?  Give the kids washable markers, paint brushes, and cups of water.  It's just like watercolor, but more accessible for the younger kids.

Up? Down? Left? Right? Purple?

So, my dragon manuscript is pretty much not something that publishers are buying these days.  Also, at seven hours a week, I don't think I could commit to finishing an entire book within whatever realistic deadline a publisher would want.  And that is assuming my daughter will continue to take naps.  So it looks like I may not have real time to give this career until both kids are in full-day school, three years hence.  Coincidentally, that will be about the time that I have to give my studio back to the kids, seeing as it is a borrowed bedroom and they won't want to bunk it forever.

(Bangs head on desk.)

On the bright side, Ruth Sanderson confirmed for me that it really is okay to post on the blog samples of art from my hope-to-someday-be-published book!

Also on the bright side, I now have a highschool student trading babysitting time for art lessons.  If I can find four more I'll be golden.

In the two-steps-forward-two-steps-back tango department, I spent a week going down the path of another dummy book.  Supposedly it was going to be something really simple I could hammer out in two weeks, as it is nothing but characters.  But um yeah.  I'm all about the environments, right self?  Yeah.  A book with ten characters every other page, two of which have to change subtly and steadily over the course of the book?  That's not just difficult, that's poke-my-eyes-out-with-a-stick please.

Also good, I submitted the application for a SCBWI grant.  Here's hoping.

My past momentum was fueled by a desire to take my dummy book to a conference.  I still need to cling to that, methinks.  I'll finish this dummy, finish the art portfolio, and give it a whirl.  So this manuscript is too long and aimed at too old an age range and in verse, which editors mostly hate.  At least my art is awesome, and I can mention Plato in my query letter.

In the mean time, I'll distract myself with this hilarious and poignant view into the lives and work worlds of those in the publishing industry.  May I someday be the rare author who makes an editor smile.  Or at the very least, never cause my publisher to bang-head-on-desk.

Before I collapse into an exhausted heap. . .

. . .I should maybe get my day down in writing.  I had my portfolio reviewed by Ruth Sanderson!  Let it be known that she is as generous in sharing her illustration wisdom as she is artistically prolific.  The woman has illustrated 80 books!

I can't even begin to list all the fantastic tips Ruth shared with our group of novices today.  Suffice it to say that I am now well-versed in portfolio etiquette.

Ruth's reaction to my portfolio was kind of awesome: she had no suggestions for improving anything - except for laughing along when I pointed out how stupid I was for leaping into horse anatomy without having done my homework.  She laughed along, and then told me that the rest of the image made up for it.  Coming from someone who has built a career around anatomically correct horses, it was high, high praise.

I would be dancing in the streets after that if not for the next part: Ruth asked me what age group I was writing for.  Eight to ten, I said.  That category is gone, she said.  %$#^, I said. 

I really should have noticed.  I've read several hundred of the most recently-published picture books this year.  Many of those come from SCBWI's "Edited By" list, which is a list of each editor's favorites from their own list.  The writing is so very.  Very.  Short.  Lots of comfort books.

So, I could proceed with my current book, under the expectation that it would be a harder sell.  Or, I can set it aside and work on something simpler (in both writing and art style) and younger.  I do have something in mind, so I may proceed with option B.   But first, I must sleep on it.

But first, it is time for some mint chocolate chip.

Rescue

Well, I'm pleased with this as a starting point.

Hmm.  It seems that this is a photo that I took before adding some finishing touches to the piece.

It's Not Easy Being Green

Here is the first of a series of pieces that I am doing as a warm-up for my book.

Crankypants

Today wasn't the end-all-be-all of bad days, but with my toddler sick for the second time in two weeks, and her lack of napping preventing me from drawing for two days in a row, I was enough on edge that I chewed out the mortgage scammer unlucky enough to call during dinner.  Alas, the happy glow from the pirate-ship treehouse drawing I did last week is fading, and if I don't make some more art soon I may just lose my nice zen cool.

But I suppose while I am in this mood, I may as well put it to good use.

Twice now I have attended the local Barnes and Noble's "local author" picture-book reading event.  I would like to write a proper review the books that were read, but in both cases the books were not up to the minimum level of quality that I expect from a bookstore, and in sympathy to the authors I'll leave it at that.

The first of the two books turned out to be self-published.  The second book was a product of Tate Publishing.

On Tate Publishing's on FAQ that they e-mail to you when you inquire about publication, they say "Be weary of other publishers who. . .".  That's sic, mind you.  For the meager up-front cost of $3990 you can let these fine people "edit" your manuscript.

Tate Publishing tries so hard to seem to be what it isn't.  According to their website, they are a ". . .mainline publishing organization. . ."  Did their lawyer advise them not to use the standard industry term, "mainstream", or is this another editing "decision"?  And "we are not a self-publisher in our approach, operation, or philosophy in any way."  No, Tate, you are a "non-traditional" press.  You are also a vanity press.  Just as with vanity galleries, in which artists pay to have their work displayed, you have no incentive to market your writers' work because you have already been paid by the writers themselves.

Here is one blogger who dissects exactly what must go on within the dark box of Tate when some poor rube drops a manuscript and $3990 in the slot.

Here is another non-traditional "publisher".  Only $6000 for the privilege of being published!  The company doesn't even identify itself.  And if you aren't skeeved out yet,  by the way, they want to know about your prior experiences with attempting to get published.  All the better to scam you with, my dear.

On a final note, I should add that the second author told me she had asked a Barnes and Noble manager before the reading how many people usually showed up for such an event.  "Hardly anybody," she was informed with a shrug.  For crying out loud, Barnes and Noble!  You let self-published authors in to promote their books, books that can't compete and that don't even rate a spot on your shelves - or, in one case, even on your website.  They aren't doing your store or themselves any good.  Are you secretly filming them just to have a laugh?  The whole thing seems so heartless.

I must retreat to my happy place now.  Up in a tree, in a pirate-ship treehouse, in the zen place in my mind.