Little Bee’s Flower is available wherever good books are sold, like here.
When West Margin Press contacted me about a couple of illustrations that were in my portfolio featuring a pair of bees, I was pretty excited. I had been working on the written bits in between illustrating other books with other people’s brilliant words and thought it could be something. The bones of the story, while dusty, were good.
I should interject here, that I’m very adept at sending little illustrations out into the world with my name attached. It’s the job. Words with no pictures in the form of a manuscript? That’s new, and comes with some freshly baked doubts.
Luckily for me, the team at West Margin had someone in mind to help shepherd the book (and my fears) in Michelle McCann. Michelle was the freelance editor I had worked with on the first book I illustrated, Pedro’s Pan (and the subsequent potty books). She’s kind and sometimes stern and funny. The kind of person you want along on the other end of those frantic emails sent from a place of doubt or overconfidence that seems to be inherent in trying to create something from nothing.
The process of editing and trimming and re-working the manuscript was new and more bruising than I thought it would be. Like I said, pictures I get, words are tough. There were things to let go (Little Bee was a male in my first draft. Male bees don’t leave the hive) and things to fight for (Queen bees don’t leave the hive, but I thought it was really important to the ending). After several emails, I actually remembered to say to myself, “you’re learning, and learning is messy business.”
I also thought that getting on to the illustrations would be like a safe haven. I know how to do this part! Taking the character studies and working through the thumbnails is my jam. There’s also a kind of superpower in being the crafter of both words and images in that you can work on both simultaneously. I knew what the ending would look like, and how the words would carry a certain weight if surrounded by the right kind of beauty.
The trying part was the weight of it all. This is an important book! Illustrating my own words carried a significance that pushed me further than previous projects. “Don’t screw this up” is a backpack filled with bowling balls when paired with deadlines—not to mention a pandemic.
Why does this book need to exist?
I think I’ve heard it said that you should know the answer to this question before embarking on getting something published. It’s interesting because I have a natural proclivity to want to make beautiful books with beautiful illustrations, almost to the detriment of the concept. Give me a blank photoshop document and two days to kill, and I’ll come out an unshaven and happy art hermit. The idea is the thing, though. The question of “why does this book need to exist?”
In a nutshell, this story gets at two things I think that are really important: Being new to something, and creating a safe place to fail.
Kids encounter new things all of the time. They can be brave and bold and scared and naive all in a five-minute span. I was the kind of kid who would rather not try than fail publicly. The truth is that failing at something new is normal. It’s how we learn. Not around, but through. I love that Little Bee, the protagonist, is scared to ask for help in the beginning, bold and brave in the middle, and only kind of succeeds in the end. It’s authentic to our experiences as humans. The more stereotypical story arc would have focused on the success at the end, the “happy ever after.” Little Bee finds a flower and the hive rejoices! Little Bee’s Flower ends with the love and understanding of Queen Bee—spoiler alert!–on purpose. There is no triumphant protagonist moment.
One day, I was at the lake with friends, and I yelled to my youngest “don’t run on those rocks, they’re slippery!” When he proceeded to fall and the tears came, I wanted so badly to say, “I told you not to run!” An older woman near me saw the whole thing. She said, “Good job not saying ‘I told you so.’ He knew. He needed a hug.” When we fail, sometimes what we need is a hug. We need to know it’s ok to learn by failing.
Someone very important to me (hi, Mom!) once told me that if you speak with your heart, people will hear with theirs. This story is my attempt at that. I don’t think it’s perfect. I do think I’ve learned a lot… and I’m honored to have had the chance to try.