Chapter 32
THE DEADLINE
I stand enclosed within the cosy hallway of the guest house, my gaze transfixed on the sepia-toned photos lining the walls, a recollection of the people who’ve passed through this haven.
‘Hey, Daisy, quick update for you,’ Lenka says with urgency in her voice.
‘We’re bringing the deadline forward to beat a competitor release.
Also, the illustrations are now an open call.
We want to cast a wider net, make sure we get the very best…
No offence intended, of course. We don’t want to leave any stone unturned! ’
Panic and shock set in as the pressure climbs to the mountaintops. The crushing weight of less time and fiercer competition bears down on my shoulders.
But Lenka reassures me, ‘You can do it, Daisy. This is a make-or-break moment – every illustrator in the country is whipping up their best work for this right now, so don’t hold anything back. Give it everything you’ve got.’
Gathering every ounce of courage, I thank her for the update and hang up the call, my thoughts a whirlwind. Today is Tuesday. She wants them Friday. That’s two weeks earlier than planned.
Granted, I’ve been working tirelessly on the illustrations at night, but my days have been entirely devoted to the house.
And I loved how she just slipped in that it’s now an open call.
My heart skips a beat as panic sets in – it’s not just my commission anymore.
I’m fighting for my life against every other hungry illustrator now.
Lenka’s just gone and Hunger Games’d my life.
I glance at my sketchbook, my latest illustration staring back at me, and I can’t help but focus on its imperfections.
The pressure of delivering earlier than expected feels suffocating.
I’m so afraid everyone will realise I’m not as great as they think I am.
Insecurity overwhelms me. Yet, I have no choice but to face my fear.
I let out a deep sigh and drag myself to the kitchen table, trying my best to shake off the feeling of impending doom.
There’s never enough time, never enough energy and never enough inspiration to make something perfect.
Not for Lenka, not for Matilda Wilder, not even for myself.
This task is too big for me; it requires patience and talent that I’m not sure I have.
My heart races as I think about it all – pleasing everyone, attracting new readers, staying relevant – and how easily everything could fall apart if I fail.
With one hand pressed to my temple and the other gripping tightly onto the edge of the table, I realise I’ve got myself into something much bigger than myself again.
As I flick through my sketchbook, I think back to my first meeting with Lenka.
She’d been so impressed with my portfolio, and that’s what granted me this opportunity in the first place.
I try to cling to the memory of the confidence I felt that day, but it’s difficult.
Why is it so hard to believe in our own abilities, even when others see them?
I pore over the Forest Fable illustrations I’ve done since arriving in Innisfree.
I do love them and I’m proud of them. For the first time in so long, I felt the joy of pure flow, of creative spark coursing from my heart to my hand onto the page.
However, I know talent is only one part of the picture – determination and hard work are just as vital.
So I take a deep breath and start listing out all the remaining illustrations, prioritising those I need to focus on first and allocating enough time for revisions.
The task ahead is intimidating, but if I’m organised and focused, I can do it.
If we can turn The Lake House around in such a short space of time, I’m sure I can pull this off with the same belief.
I feel a tightness in my chest as I contemplate the launch of a similar book from another publisher and how crucial it is that we release before them.
Everywhere I turn I feel the burning eyes of an army of up-and-coming illustrators, all hungry for this chance to outshine me.
My sense of urgency intensifies to a fever pitch.
It’s an all-or-nothing situation: make the bold move or risk forever being left behind.
A renewed sense of purpose drives me forward.
I may never feel completely prepared or completely content with my artwork, but I can no longer afford to be hesitant and put things off.
I need to let go of minor imperfections. It’s time to keep creating.
I stand up and arch my back, letting out a sigh of relief.
I have less than three days to finish this project.
But I’ve been working on it for weeks, and I realise I should be proud of what I’ve done so far.
So I promise myself to put in my best effort, regardless of the outcome.
I’ll do the best I can with the time I have, but I’m determined not to sacrifice my life and goals for someone who doesn’t respect me or my efforts again. I’ll live my life on my own terms.