The Shape of a Creative Year
Creative years are rarely linear. They don’t unfold neatly from one finished project to the next, and they’re almost never defined by constant momentum. More often creative years move in cycles, from intensity to stillness, doubt to confidence, visibility to retreat. This year reminded me that a consistent creative practice asks for patience, and a willingness to show up even when no one’s watching. Today’s post is a seasonal reflection of my illustration practice this year, including the projects I was grateful to work on, as well as embracing the lulls and continuing the work of showing up. I hope you enjoy it.
Winter: Riding the Creative Wave
At the beginning of this year, I was already deep into my second children’s book, Thank You Teacher. The spreads had been approved by the art director before the holidays, so January was spent quietly finishing the internal illustrations. Most of this work happened over the first few weeks of the year, just as my first book, Dancing in the Rain had started the year before. It’s a familiar rhythm by now, and being busy during the winter months is something I’ve come to accept as part of my creative seasons.
Alongside this book project, I was balancing teaching at a school, studying for a dance teacher qualification, and transitioning into a new city role at an arts charity a couple of days a week. This role was one that had landed in my lap, and while the demands of responsibility pushed me to balance days intentionally, it was an opportunity that suited me well and that I wanted to dedicate some time to. Creative work therefore existed in pockets. This year, that didn’t look like long, uninterrupted days in the studio. It looked like an hour here, an afternoon there. I often left my paint palette out overnight, so I could roll out of bed and continue where I’d left off the night before. But I continued to show up. I leaned heavily on intuition, learning when to follow the inspiration wave as it arrived, and when to let myself do nothing at all. Both I realised, were necessary.
Meaningful creative work is rarely glamorous. It lives in the mundane, ordinary afternoons or late-night camp-outs at the drawing table, where you choose to sit down whether the conditions are perfect or not. I used to feel frustrated by the stop-start nature of creative energy. Now, I’ve learned to embrace it. With that shift, I’ve become better at recognising when to ride the wave, and when to allow myself to do nothing at all. The life of an illustrator in reality is built through repetition. By becoming someone who instinctively reaches for their sketchbook when a spare moment appears. By putting systems in place so that when inspiration arrives, action feels natural rather than something to procrastinate over. I was reminded of Julia Cameron’s advice in The Artist’s Way: you don’t salute the desk like a sergeant, ready to pump out work on command. You ride the wave of inspiration. And when it comes, your only job is to act.
Spring: Working Without Witness
Having submitted my finished spreads to Hachette, spring became a season of quiet transition. I showed my face on video for the first time for an interview and online feature with Children’s Book North, and settled more fully into my city role, all the while gently phasing out teaching. Saying goodbye to the children I’d taught for the last three years was unexpectedly emotional. I gifted them hand-painted sketchbooks, and in return received letters and handmade cards that affirmed something I’ve always hoped to pass on: that art is valuable not because it’s perfect, but because it’s practised. Because you show up again and again, and because individual ideas matter. I had the wonderful opportunity to see Thank You, Teacher on the shelves of bookshops in my hometown - something I will never, ever get tired of. And began working on a project with Bury Art Museum, which was a full-circle collaboration involving children from my old primary school and lecturer from my old university. Their stories were illustrated, printed, and gifted back to the community. It took a couple of months, from sketches to final, and I didn’t make much noise about it, which felt right for this project. Without the pressure to document each step, my sketches emerged naturally, and I felt a lot of freedom in creating compositions that didn’t feel performative.
This season reminded me how powerful it can be to work without the pressure to announce every step. I’ve often been asked how to resist the pull of social media, and while I don’t claim to have mastered it, keeping a little distance has served me well. Too much time on there can blur your instincts, pulling you toward what you should be doing rather than what feels true for you. These days, illustration and social media are not separate outlets for me. The work always comes first however, and I allow that to be filtered into posts and portfolios later. This transitional time revealed to me that not everything needs to be shared. Working quietly and nurturing a project with your creative energy can produce something just as meaningful.
Summer: When Life Is Full and Work Is Quiet
Summer arrived with warmth and community, and yet creatively, I felt a lull. On a muggy evening at the office, where I had now accepted a permanent position, I received an email from Factory International asking me to illustrate activity sheets for children visiting during Manchester International Festival. I remember sitting in the dusk-lit room, eating a halloumi salad before heading out to an arts event, feeling incredibly grateful for another exciting opportunity. We also gathered for our summer Drawn In event with Sketch and Cafe at Fairfield Social Club, I ran an illustration workshop at House of Books and Friends for little mess-makers, and attended a Pecha Kucha evening with cocktails and friends - just a few highlights of the season.
And yet, when the bustle softened, I began to notice a lull in creative projects and inspiration. I hadn’t made anything new for my portfolio since the project with Bury Museum, and client conversations had quietened. That dissonance, as all creatives know, can be unsettling. This is often where creatives reach a fork in the road. One path leads to frustration and self-blame. The other asks for responsibility. I chose the second. I reminded myself that staying open to opportunities is what matters. If you remain open to ideas and show up to doing the work anyway, you become a kind of lighthouse to opportunities. Not by forcing outcomes, but by making yourself available to them. It’s okay if sometimes life feels full and work feels quiet. Being social does not mean you’re failing creatively, and a creative lull does not cancel out the joy of living. During a quiet week on the Norfolk coast, as summer drew to a close, I set the intention to welcome in support and inspiration again. Not through force, but through curiosity and openness. Once the intention was set, it took only a few days for my path to emerge.
Autumn: Commitment
It was on the threshold of autumn, during a day out with friends, that the idea of an accountability club emerged. One friend suggested that a small group of us could meet weekly, not to hustle, but to stay honest with each other, and to finish the projects we’d been circling for too long, as well as offering each other thoughtful feedback. We each chose two goals. Mine were to finish a project I loved the idea of, but hadn’t touched in over a year, and to be more consistent in sharing my work online. When asked why I hadn’t finished the Coraline project I’d started last year, my answer was simple: I hadn’t made the time. So this season, I did.
With the support of this structure, I committed to completing four portfolio pieces. I experimented, scrapped ideas, returned to old sketches, listened to the audiobook, built mood boards, and slowly felt my creative spark begin to bubble up again. Turns out creativity is very simple if you nurture it well. The more you feed it and show up for it, the more it grows, and the more it rewards you. At the same time, my relationship with my online presence shifted. Instead of sharing as an afterthought, I began treating my feed as an extension of my practice. I felt more comfortable sharing processes, and using it as a space to tell the story of the work rather than just presenting the finished result. As Austin Kleon writes, showing your work isn’t about constant output, or being perfect, it’s about building a consistent, honest dialogue. With this steady commitment came excitement. I found myself waking in the night to scribble down notes and visual ideas - that familiar, electric feeling I’d missed over the summer months. Even now, as the year draws to a close, those ideas are still flowing. My job, as is for all illustrators, is to simply keep showing up, to water the roots, and ride the wave for as long as I can.
Looking ahead
As we draw a curtain on the year, I hope this post serves as a reminder that the coming year doesn’t need to be a fresh start. Value can be measured in the days you rested as well as those spent at the drawing table. Sometimes the most meaningful progress is simply in showing up, tending what you’ve already planted, and trusting that growth compounds over time. That, I’ve learned, is the real measure of a creative year.
I wish you all success and joy for the coming year ahead! Thank you for reading friends.
C x