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There’s one sentence I think every artist hears at least five hundred times in their life.
“Start a blog!”
Right after that comes the second one.
“Show people how your work was created!”
And then the third.
“Write case studies!”
Sure.
Great idea.
There’s just one tiny problem.
I have absolutely no idea how my work is created.
Marketers seem to imagine the creative process as if it were assembling an IKEA wardrobe.
Step 1: Research.
Step 2: Inspiration.
Step 3: Color theory.
Step 4: Typography.
Step 5: Profit.
And if you get stuck, there’s probably an exploded assembly diagram on page 37.
For me, it’s more like being led through a dense, foggy swamp by a sleepwalking penguin.
I have no idea where we’re going.
Neither does the penguin.
But for some reason, I follow it anyway.
If I had to be honest, my case study would probably look something like this:
– This font looks offended.
– This red is too loud.
– This black is almost right.
– Ah… we’ve arrived.
Three hours later, there’s a finished book cover on my screen.
Don’t ask me how.
I was there the whole time.
I still don’t know.
I think there are two kinds of creative people.
The first group plans everything.
Notes.
Mood boards.
Character sheets.
Color palettes.
World-building.
There are so many sticky notes on their walls that, from the outside, their studio looks like the FBI is trying to solve an especially complicated crime.
Writing a case study is easy for them.
They simply pull out their notes and reconstruct the entire process.
I’m not one of those people.
There’s a feeling.
A thought.
Sometimes not even that.
Just a strange inner urge telling me, “You have to make this.”
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And then I begin.
I don’t know what it’s going to become.
I simply feel what the next step is.
That’s exactly how I write, too.
I’ve heard of writers who prepare an entire suitcase full of notes before writing the first sentence.
Character profiles.
Timelines.
World maps.
Family trees.
The kingdom’s tax system.
The neighboring continent’s religions.
It’s impressive.
I usually write about one page.
I sketch out the story.
I roughly know where it begins and where I’d like it to end.
The rest…
is somehow already inside my head.
As I write, the characters slowly come to life.
Not just their personalities.
Their thoughts.
Their decisions.
Their fears.
Eventually they start doing things I never planned.
People often say that’s the moment when the characters take control.
I don’t know.
Maybe.
All I know is that, after a while, I start living with them.
And now we get to the part that somehow never appears in marketing books.
When I write a romantic storyline…
I genuinely fall in love.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Obviously not with the character.
But my body reacts as if I were actually in love.
When my characters are afraid…
I become anxious too.
When they’re angry…
so am I.
When they’re grieving…
I can feel miserable for days.
The exact same thing happens when I’m creating artwork.
If a piece is filled with passion, pain, or joy, I experience those emotions while I’m making it.
I don’t simply draw them.
I live through them.
And it’s incredibly exhausting.
By the time I finish a novel…
or a piece of artwork that I’ve truly poured myself into…
I’m completely drained.
It’s as if I’d spent weeks living someone else’s life.
And then, suddenly…
it’s over.
And something happens that I never expected when I first started creating.
Emptiness.
Not because the work failed.
Not because it turned out badly.
But because everything suddenly goes quiet.
For weeks, my brain has been running at full speed.
Creating stories.
Experiencing emotions.
Solving problems.
And then, overnight…
nothing.
For me, that feeling can last for an entire week.
At that point, I have to give my brain something else to do.
Once, after finishing a novel, I pulled out my old history textbooks.
And I started studying.
Not because I suddenly developed an irresistible passion for medieval Hungarian administration.
But because my brain needed something.
Something it could keep working on.
It’s a bit like marathon runners.
They don’t sit down the second they cross the finish line.
They cool down.
They let their bodies gradually recover.
I cool down with history books.
And now that I’ve written all of this…I’ve realized something else.
My stories always have very few characters.
For years, I thought that was a deliberate writing style.
Now I’m not so sure.
Maybe I simply can’t emotionally live alongside too many imaginary people at the same time.
There seems to be a limit.
My brain probably has a maximum occupancy.
If too many characters show up, someone has to wait in the hallway…until a space becomes available.
And you know what?
I think this makes for a far more interesting blog post…than explaining why I chose Baskerville instead of Garamond.
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If this story resonated with you, here are three more you might enjoy.
– Why Nobody Understands Artists (And That’s Probably for the Best)
Sometimes I don’t fully understand my own creative process either. That might be more common than we think.
– Dedicated or Obsessed? Science Is Still Debating
Creative ideas don’t always arrive politely. Sometimes they completely take over your day.
– Every Artist Is Secretly Waiting for The One
Some ideas simply refuse to leave until they’ve become something real.
Some Covers Aren’t Planned. They’re Discovered
Just like stories, the best book covers don’t always begin with a detailed plan.
Sometimes one image simply feels right.
That’s why every BoN Editions premade book cover is created as a unique design and sold only once.
Perhaps yours is already waiting.
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