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To publicize my current exhibit at the Indianapolis Art Center, I recently sent out another postcard mailing. I try and do these mailings at least three times a year, and my list includes book and magazine publishers, card/product companies, past clients, family and friends. While some artists and writers are able to enter the field relatively quickly (within two to three years) the world of publishing is highly competitive and notoriously difficult to break into. Publishing companies and their staff are constantly changing, trading positions, moving from house to house, and often moving their physical locations entirely.
Every January I review the latest edition of Artist’s and Graphic Designer’s Market (as well as the children’s market version) to update my mailing list and find new candidates for my marketing efforts. There are usually lots of changes to make, and I look up the websites of new listings to see if they might be a good match for my style. (There’s absolutely no point in sending cards to companies whose products don’t match your work). Despite all this research, I always have several cards that are returned to me during the course of the year from contacts whose information has changed or who have simply disappeared. If it’s just an address change I correct the list and send a new card, and hope it finds its mark.
If someone is interested in becoming a published children’s writer or illustrator, it’s really important to learn about the publishing and submission process. I’ve been contacted numerous times by new writers who are interested in my work and would like me to illustrate their stories for submission. But the reality is that editors are the ones who put together these partnerships; they select an illustrator from their contact list to illustrate the manuscripts they’ve already chosen for publication. The authors almost never have a say in who illustrates their stories, and publishers rarely accept a submission that includes both manuscript and artwork. Some editors do like to find someone who can illustrate their own text, but the text and the art have to be equally good. It all depends on the particular house. Ultimately, publishing is a business like everything else, and the staff have to create books they believe can sell.
It sounds daunting, sending mailings out year after year, not knowing if the recipients are interested in your work. But many times these submissions are saved by staff who like what they see, and imagine they might have a project for a particular artist or writer in the future. Publishers like to see people who are committed, and it’s not uncommon for them to be contacted about a project after several years of sending mailings. In a way it’s a gamble like anything else, but I like to think it pays to be persistent. J.K. Rowling of Harry Potter fame received twelve rejections for her initial manuscript before finally getting it picked up by Bloomsbury Publishing. What if she had given up after three, five, or ten rejections? Julia Cameron, who created the inspirational “Artist’s Way” series of books and courses about pursuing creativity, writes that her students often complain, “Do you know how old I will be by the time I…(fill in the blank)?” ”Yes,” she replies, “the same age you will be if you don’t.”
Recently my husband and I had the opportunity to visit some beehives. A fellow artist who also exhibited at the Clowes Spotlight Art show mentioned that she and her husband keep bees, and generously offered to give us a tour. So one hot, muggy day last month we put on our long-sleeved shirts and long pants, and headed over to their house.
Our artist friends Vandra and David have three hives in their backyard, and already this summer have collected over 200 lbs. of honey, which they sell through local venues. Mike and I each took a turn wearing the extra hat and long gloves that were on hand so we could get up close to the hives. (Apparently bees will burrow into one’s hair and become almost impossible to get out; they also don’t like dark colors, which is why beekeepers wear white). We watched while David uncapped the hives and carefully pulled out the supers, or the frames where the bees build their honeycomb. He wanted to check on the honey production and the health of the bees themselves, both of which appeared to be doing well. The bees were hard at work filling their combs with honey, and he also showed us the frames where the young bees (larvae and pupae, really) were being tended by the nurse bees. Somewhere further down in the hive the queen was also at work, producing the eggs that would become her future helpers. I’m fascinated by the complex society of queen, drones, and worker bees; every member has a designated purpose and job to do, whether it’s producing or caring for the young, guarding the hive, or collecting pollen and creating honey. Vandra even told us that when some of the workers become too old to forage, they’ll spend their time strolling around outside the hive, where another worker will walk alongside, grooming and assisting them. These are insects. And yet there is a humanity about them that we can relate to.
These bees were healthy, with glossy striped bodies and shiny wings, and the hot summer air around us was filled with the hum of their comings and goings as they flew around our heads, busy with their work and seemingly oblivious to the fact that their house had been opened up and their secrets revealed. But only by so much.