On Receiving Professional Feedback (Bad News and Good News)

Forgetting something?

I've finally received feedback on my graphic novel project, Strandlands, from a professional graphic novel editor. What I learned there has been a source of great encouragement, disappointment, and self-examination over the past few weeks.

If you'll remember last month, I found out last minute that an editor I like would be available for critiques as part of Kids Comics Unite Pitchfest 2026. You can check out the journey of putting together my pitch packet here, in my previous blog.

I had 20 minutes to talk with this industry professional, who I'll call Andrew here. Andrew was a kind guy with nothing but enthusiasm for Strandlands. He opened with his own thoughts overall about the first ten pages of my hard work. He felt the work was strong, especially in the departments of writing, paneling, theming, and characters. Andrew said the dialogue between my two main characters felt natural, and that the world was especially interesting to him.

He said to use Lightfall as my top comp title was a great choice, and that I should continue to read Tim's work and learn from it.

Andrew even said that the written synopsis and my personal explanation for why I'm making Strandlands was great. He had no notes for the pitch itself, and said it was clearly written.

My second comp title, the Amulet graphic novel series, according to Andrew, has become synonymous with Harry Potter as a big no-no for comparing your work. Comparing your work to a best-seller in its genre can communicate to an onlooking agent that either:

a. You think your work is going to be as popular as the best-selling series of all time

or

b. You don't know enough about your own niche to compare your work to something more specific and less widely popular.

Either way, I had to scrap Amulet as a comp. Andrew recommended checking out the works of Ben Hatke and Jason Pamment for potential comps. Hatke and Pamment would come up again later in the conversation.

Andrew even liked the unconventional style of fantasy I was portraying in Strandlands. The literary world is tired of knights, kings, and dragons, so something fresh and unique is sure to catch an agent's eye.

All of this was turning out to be such a boost, just when I was starting to feel a bit burnt out.

Then came the bad news.

After he gave me all of this great feedback, I was able to Andrew some questions. Of the four questions we blazed through, the last conveyed some necessary and painful feedback on my work.

The last question I asked was this: "If the three pillars of this packet are the writing, the pitch itself, and the art, which pillar is weakest?"

"The art."

Even though I knew it was what he was going to say, it still stung a bit.

To summarize, Andrew liked my character designs and my world, but the illustrations themselves weren't up to snuff. I needed to up my art game. He suggested checking out Hatke and Pamment's work and learning from their techniques. If I was going to tell an environmental story set in interesting places, I needed to do those places justice in the art.

It's wild because I thought art was my greatest strength, it was my background and profession after all, but after some serious thought not only did I come to agree with Andrew, I came to see my art as a gaping hole in my career.

After the zoom call ended (and Andrew and I talked about animation for a few minutes) a question came to the surface of my mind.

How long had I been neglecting my art?

Me. A freelance artist, picture book illustrator, and animation instructor.

How long had it been since I had drawn to learn? Or even for fun?

I'd been so laser-focused on learning how to develop a book, write well, pitch it well, and get it to market, that my illustration skills have been in the backseat for years. I was so giddy to be able to use my art as a means of income (and I still think it's a tremendous blessing) that at some point I must have decided that my craft was "good enough" and left it on the shelf.

What's worse, I even wrote about this in Strandlands! How did I forget since writing this line?

"Skill? I never called it that. I called it a gift. And it should be treated as such... Gifts are freely given, not hoarded for one’s own benefit." (p. 70)

So, what's the good news?

The good news is that I've spent the last two and a half years of off hours writing and editing this graphic novel and I only spent 10 days developing the art (and in a frenzied panic, if I may add), so naturally it's going to be the weakest element of my pitch. All I need to do is invest in my art in the same way I've been investing in the rest of the project.

The good news is that I've been doing art since as long as I could hold a pencil. My writing has developed leaps and bounds in recent years, so why can't I go back to basics with my art, too? If there's anything I know how to do, it's make creamy chicken noodle soup and draw.

The good news is that I was thinking that my writing and pitch were weak, but the weakest part was the skill that I know best how to strengthen and develop, and love the most.

Have you ever felt like a gift or talent of yours has been neglected? What shook you out of that? I'd love to hear your thoughts below and learn more from you all's experiences.

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