Need an illustrator? I did.
My co-author and I had written a picture book for the children of same-sex parents, and my local writers’ club convinced me to self-publish.
A publisher needs an illustrator, so donning my safari gear, I started searching for a rare, elusive (not illusive!) illustrator.
I wanted an artist whose work looked like pre-Raphaelite stained glass. Alas, I couldn’t find one.
I kept searching although I was horrifically ill. My guts were LITERALLY rotting despite months of antibiotics.
My health notwithstanding, I’d volunteered to help at our Arkansas Episcopal Diocesan Convention. The day before the convention, I learned that I didn’t have to go. But a promise is a promise no matter how small, so on Convention Day, I girded my loins and drove to Little Rock.
I dragged myself across the parking lot, computer bag over my right shoulder and left hand holding my searing, decaying gut.
“What in hell am I doing here?” I asked myself. “I need to be in bed. I’m too damn sick for this.”
(And I was. Six weeks later, I lost my entire colon when it exploded during emergency surgery. My gut was so rotten that when they inflated it with air, it literally blew the hell up. The hospital had to cancel all the other surgeries scheduled in that operating theatre for the rest of the day while my surgeon sweated, swore, and scrambled to save my life. He said later, “To a surgeon, surgery is 99% boredom and 1% sheer panic. That was the 1%.” I should have died on the table.)
But back to Convention Day. Ill and irascible, I reached the conference center. I opened the door, looked up, and gasped.
Straight ahead stood an elfin woman with an enormous scary-looking therapy dog. Behind the woman and the dog loomed a trifold display of pre-Raphaelite paintings like stained glass.
“Now I understand, God,” I whispered. “You sent me here to meet our illustrator.”
Heart pounding, I slumped onto a chair and watched the woman visit with admirers.
When the hall cleared, I approached her. I said, “Would you please sit down and read something?”
She furrowed her eyebrows but sat. I handed her my open computer. “Please read this story,” I said. “It won’t take you five minutes.”
She read it. “It’s beautiful,” she said, tilting her head in confusion. “Thank you for letting me read it. Your writing reminds me of C. S. Lewis. Something for both children and adults.”
“It’s a picture book,” I said. “And I want you to illustrate it. I don’t know what your rates are, but I’ll pay them. I’ve been searching everywhere for you for months.” She looked nonplussed.
I said, “I won’t ask you to do this based on royalties that may never materialize. I want to buy the illustrations outright, and all rights to them.” I handed her a $500 check. “I don’t know what you charge, but here’s a down payment on the last illustration for the book. You can cash it immediately.”
She looked at the check, and then back at me. “I have a daughter who is legally married to another woman with whom she’s lived for ten years. They just had a baby girl,” she said. “I’m supposed to do this project.” She smiled.
“So you’re in?” I asked.
“All the way in,” she said.
“I think this is a God thing,” I said.
“I know it is,” she answered.
And that’s how it started.
So who is my Elusive Illustrator?
Angela F. M. (Angie) Trotter, holds a BA in Religion and Fine Art, and a minor in photography from Meredith College in Raleigh, NC.
She’s an artist, a person of deep faith, and a chronic, complex migraine sufferer, each dimension affecting and being affected by the others. Angie says, “My artwork is an amalgamation of icons, illuminated manuscripts, stained glass window design, and my prayer life. My faith has shaped my education, artwork, and how I deal with constant and debilitating pain.” And no doubt, her education, artwork, and constant pain have shaped her faith. And her education, constant pain, and faith have shaped her artwork.
Angie had been an artist since toddlerhood; her parents, both artists, encouraged her to let her creativity flow; she remembers creating “pastoral masterpieces” in chalk while her architect father worked on floor plans for his clients.
However, life as the wife of an Episcopal priest, the mother of two daughters, a grandmother, a gymnastics teacher, a Chief Court Clerk, and a migraine sufferer had pulled Angie away from her art, and only in 2011 did she begin to draw again.
She has shown throughout the southeastern US and been featured in American Artist. Most of her award-winning art is in private collections coast to coast.
All is Assuredly Well is the first book Angie has illustrated, but won’t be her last; she’ll begin working on its sequel, Most Assuredly Well, in January, 2019, and then Not Assuredly Well! in 2021.
The takeaway for self-publishers? Your Elusive Illustrator is waiting for you to find her. That’s part of your job.
If your amateur artist friend, John, volunteers, politely refuse his offer. You need a professional because your book’s sales and your reputation depend on professional-quality illustrations.
If your professional artist friend, Lynn, volunteers, politely refuse unless her style is perfect for your book. As a professional, she should understand that although you love her work, your book requires a different artistic genre.
Search galleries and the internet databases of free-lance illustrators until you find your Illusive Illustrator. Don’t give up. She’s out there waiting for you to find her. That’s your job. Go do it.
Finally, be prepared to pay a professional her going rate. You’re making a long-term investment in your publishing business. Take a second job if you don’t have access to the money. Stop eating out. Skip the Starbucks. Give up pedicures. You’ll live. I did.