No, it’s not a horrible typo–the galleys for the book arrived and I get to see how the book looks all laid out. There are photos still not placed, but the step-by-steps are there in black-and-white.
What I sent in as a document is now typeset and designed. Reading the words I started to write a year ago can feel like standing in a time machine, or in a tunnel with a strong echo. I am having dejà vue, a feeling of having seen this all before. It looks so different, but it sounds so familiar.
Of course, the inner critic showed up. The book is about him, after all. Who am I to write about ways to confront the inner critic? Who am I to combine writing and art exercises and write a book to coach artists? And who is going to buy a book that is part writing, part mixed media and a large part coaching?
A family member asked to see a copy of Raw Art Journaling when it first came out. I handed it to her, hoping she would like it. She flipped through it, page by page, then handed it back, seriously. “That’s a lot of works in there,” she said. And this one has a lot of words, too.
Most people buy new art technique books and flip through them, back to front, looking for images they like. If they find a few, they buy the book. Will they like this book–with all those words? It’s a coaching book with writing and art exercises. Will this work?
I don’t know. But in reading through the galleys, I found a sentence that rings true, even a year later. “We don’t know if our efforts will work. But we do know that if we don’t get started, nothing at all will happen.”
Everyone has an inner critic. That makes a big potential audience for the book. I have no control over how many people will like it, but as i read through the galleys, changing phrases to make them clearer, smiling as I remember the photo shoot, I am giving it my best shot.
–Quinn McDonald is entertaining her inner critic.