An open window

Owen took this photo (of me) in Barcelona earlier this year on a trip to promote the spanish edition of Alison. It was the start (or the end) of his roll of film but I think it fairly neatly summarises the feeling of spending the last seven months drawing my book.

It is, quite often but not always, a lovely thing to get to write and draw for a living but I can’t pretend that it makes for plain sailing in the brain (brain-sailing?) all of the time. Every day I go to my studio and I think about people who don’t exist (cos I made them up) doing things that never happened (cos I made those things up to) in a place that, guess what, doesn’t appear on any map. It’s a luxury to spend so much time on a single creative project but I am starting to wonder whether spending my days immersed in my own imaginings might also be…a bit mad. Without wanting to sound dramatic it is an isolating thing to do to yourself. No one else (bar my agent and editor, and Owen) really know the plot of the book (beyond my two sentence summary) so when people kindly ask me ‘how’s the book going’, I can’t really give a useful answer. ‘I’m at the bit with the peas’ doesn’t really help anyone! (There is really a bit with peas.) Occasionally I have found myself feeling as though, whilst I might be in the same room as people, I am very far away, or they are.

the Ames Room Illusion

I wonder if the feeling of brain-isolation is excerbated by the fact that I’m drawing the book as well as writing it. The repetitive, shockingly physical, task (I need to spend a year in a warm pool to sooth my drawing muscles) of drawing the same people over and over exagerates the madness. It feels wilful. I could just draw something fun, or work on something short and immediate, or write one of these. I could be doing something that faces outwards.

I am hopeful that this doesn’t sound like complaint. I’m trying to explain the feeling because I find it interesting. Everyone I’ve spoken to says ‘yeah, the end is the worst bit’. So perhaps we all go a bit mad.

This quote from Hilary Mantel does the rounds now and again and it’s not hard to see why. It’s a striking thought and you can read it however you want (aspirational, romantic or wretched, up to you). I think it’s probably different with every project, the thing you let go of.

And now, my book is nearly done. File 119 of 275 is currently being uploaded to share with my publisher. There are a handful of pages left to draw but the bulk of it is done. The structure is built. You can step inside and the windows and doors are all where they are supposed to be.

Currently I’m stood inside the structure but, excuse me for dragging out a metaphor, suddenly the back window is open. Wide open. I can see outside. I’ll stay indoors a bit longer, tidy up, make it nice, ready for visitors etc but the window is telling me that, soon, I’ll get to leave and there’ll be all this space. My God I want that space. Choice of direction, different views. I’ll miss my imaginary people and how their thoughts jumbled together with my thoughts, making things a bit noisy for a while, but I feel excited to step back into the world; to work out what I’ll make next and, maybe, for just a little bit, to do nothing at all.

OTHER THINGS.

Two Book Recommendations

Evie Wyld- The Echoes- I love Evie Wyld’s writing and the Echoes is maybe her best yet. Sharp and funny and frequently unbearably horrifying, I found the Echoes so immersive and absorbing that it felt unlike reading a novel and more that I had, somehow, found myself tuned into someone else’s thoughts. Great stuff.

The Dig- Cynan Jones- This was of Owen’s that he passed on to me and its brutal and bleak and full of muddy Welsh farmland. It’s not a light summer read but way Jones writes is amazing, so clean and tidy yet very beautiful and consistently vivid.

In November this year I’m going to be in Rome (Rome!) running a children’s book retreat with Inky Larks. Diletta runs Inky Larks from her family home in the centre of Rome and it looks so beautiful I can’t really believe she’s invited me to teach there! I’ll be helping you work through the picture-book process with a focus on play and experimentation. It’ll also be very social, with sketching trips out and about in Rome and tasty dinners together and plenty of good book chat! I think it’s going to be really fun. You can read more about Inky Larks here. Currently you can book a place at an early bird rate.

This short poem by Joseph Fasano will probably be slotted into my teaching this year. It’s certainly slotted into my brain quite neatly.

Last month on the Avery Hill Podcast talking about some of my cultural influences. You can listen here.

I have been a truly awful substack-er this summer but the plan is that on the PAID part of this newsletter I’m going to share my ten week picture book writing course week-by-week in parallel with teaching it in real-life with my Master’s Students at Goldsmiths. Each week I’ll post the lecture and some activities that might help you write a picture book (they might not though! no promises!). This’ll start in October so you have a month to decide whether you want in or not!

Thanks for reading this ponderous, aimless little post (if you did). I’ll be back very soon. Hopefully.

Thanks,

Lizzy