Since I first decided I wanted to be an illustrator twenty-five years ago, I’ve attended more than fifty children’s book conferences. Over the years, I’ve noticed changes in my experience of conferences, and in the role they play in the development of my work.

My very first, the 1978 SCBW New England Regional Conference in Northampton, Massachusetts, was as essential as oxygen. At the time I was taking a class on illustrating children’s books taught by Eric Carle, but otherwise had had no exposure whatsoever to the field, beyond loving the final products. I spent the day in a dazed state of bliss, overwhelmed by the excitement of being among people who practiced what I dreamed of doing. The information I gathered was basic and foundational. In my journal notes from an illustration workshop led by Jane Breskin Zalben, I recorded useful guidelines for what to include in a portfolio:

1. Printed postcard with a sample of your work.
2. Items pertaining to the children’s book field!
3. Color separation.
4. 32-page dummy.
5. Sample single- and double-page spreads with text.
6. Book jackets.
7. Fine art, if you have it.

Though the inclusion of color separation is no longer pertinent, this list holds up as a good starting point, twenty-five years later. That’s good advice, and it was all new to me.

The next year, at SCBW again, Cyndy Szekeres offered a session on illustration which included this guidance: Illustration is more than “good pictures”. In developing characters, first understand anatomy and how bodies (human, animal, etc) move. Then “make the character what the story is. Show experiences, character traits, in every part of the child.” The inspiration I was gaining is evident from the fact that my conference notes are interspersed with ideas for stories and illustrations, including the first draft of the manuscript of what eventually became my thirteenth book, The Princess and the Beggar: A Korean Folktale (Scholastic, 1993, now out of print). In the beginning years of a children’s book career, conferences can provide the spark to start the fire going, or the wind to stoke it. Seeing that someone else actually does this, and how they do it, makes it possible to imagine yourself doing it, and can give you the necessary information to make it happen, one step at a time, for yourself.

One of the best reasons to attend conferences early on is to make contacts, particularly with editors and art directors. There is no substitute for hearing directly from the individuals themselves what they are looking for, how to approach them, how they work.These contacts become even more important as one’s work develops and becomes ready for publication. A portfolio critique with an art director at a “Perspectives in Literature” Conference (University of Massachusetts, Amherst) resulted in my first picture book contract two years later. That book (Jamaica’s Find by Juanita Havill, Houghton Mifflin, 1986) turned into a series about the same little girl, six books to date, and the relationship with the art director has turned into a lifelong friendship. Though that is my only experience of a conference contact becoming a publishing relationship, I’ve gained immeasurably from the reflections and advice of numerous other art directors and editors.

In the midst of all these benefits, there are also potential pitfalls to attending conferences. Just before I started on the illustrations for Jamaica’s Find, I worked as a volunteer for the “In Celebration of Children’s Literature” Conference at the University of Southern Maine. One of my jobs was the privilege of meeting illustrator Charles Mikolaycak at the airport and assisting him throughout the day he was presenting. I was so in awe of him and so impressed by his books that when I began my own illustrations, I became convinced that my work would be improved if I imitated some of his technique. I lost several crucial weeks before I stopped trying to be someone else and got back on my own visual path.

Another challenge is knowing when enough is enough. In the early years, conferences were a concentration of all the essential information I needed. As my own work was evolving, full of fits and starts, barriers and stuck places, I went to conferences filled with questions, with the sense that someone, somewhere would have the answers I was seeking. I just knew it was out there somewhere, the magic key that would unlock the puzzle, that would make all pieces fall into place. Somewhere, someone else - some editor or art director, some author, illustrator or agent - could tell me what I needed to know to move forward, to get the perfect inspiration, to create the perfect book. After a time, I began to feel unfulfilled by my conference experiences, and began to realize, reluctantly, that I was chasing a mirage. One day I reached the point where I had to acknowledge that most of what I needed to know could only be discovered in my own studio. The questions could only be answered by me, sitting at my own drawing table, because they were about my own individual, unique and particular work: my approach, my style, my passion, my content, my way of doing it all. I had to find my own answers. It was time, for awhile, to stay home and work.

These days, I go to conferences from time to time. I enjoy the comraderie, the networking, the professional development, the celebration of achievements, and the sharing of details of our lives and our work with others who are engaged in this often solitary undertaking. I still feel uplifted by the stories of people who believe that creating children’s books is a good, vital, significant, and often wondrous way to spend our time. I still get ideas for new work, as if the conference air is charged with inspiration molecules. I return home filled up, my fires rekindled, and I get to work.

Published in newsletter of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators.
(Reproduced with permission.)