When my first book, Eric the Postie, was signed, I saw it as a fluke – a one-off and something I just got lucky with. I told myself I wouldn’t consider myself a ‘writer’ until there was a second book. First time is luck, second time would be skill, or something like that.
When my second book was signed, Queen Celine, I saw it as another fluke, not proof that I could write for children. “What are the chances?” I said to myself, “2 books written, 2 books published! That’s amazing!” I told myself I wouldn’t consider myself a writer until I ‘tricked’ someone else into it again, just one more time – a third book. That was still true, even when both Eric the Postie and Queen Celine went on to claim CBCA notable prizes in their respective years.
Now, I’ve gone on to write four or five books that have been signed with various publishers. Some have originated from me, others have been a response to a commission – receiving a contract for a book I haven’t even written yet. Do I feel like ‘a writer’ yet? Well, no. Which brings me to some questions – what will it take for that to change, and what is a writer, anyway?
What do I need to do to earn the label?
By any objective measure, five signed books as author/illustrator is success – it’s enough objective data for me to know it’s not dumb luck or a fluke. It’s not liked I’ve duped one publisher either, I’m working across many different ones. But still, there’s something in my mind that will not let me identify as a ‘writer’.
Maybe it’s because we all operate on different scales of success? Maybe it’s because I never went to art school and I’m not ‘credentialed’? But shouldn’t the books themselves be credentials – proof that I can do this? Or maybe I imagine a writer to be someone or something different. Maybe the cultural stereotype of a ‘writer’ – the lonely soul tapping away at a typewriter tucked away in the garret – is so burned in my brain that, if I don’t look or act like that, then I can’t possibly be one.
In the end, what I know is true is that an artist is what they make. Make a painting? Maybe I’m a painter. Sculpt some clay? Maybe I’m a sculptor. Write a children’s book? Just one, or many, maybe that’s enough to start embracing the labels I’ve kept so distant. Maybe if I just keep making work, the labels will take care of themselves? Maybe the labels are for other people and not me? Labels help humans make sense of the world, but do I need them for myself? Maybe I don’t need to concern myself with what label fits me now or in the future, what matters is that I’m having fun and making work that I think matters – that’s when the best work happens anyway, no matter the form it takes or whether anyone else likes it.