In honor of this week’s Page by Page event on the Art of Submitting Work, I slapped together a creative piece about my artistic alter ego, who I imagine as a large, grouchy, chip-loving Ogre. The category-defying and fabulously talented Taisia Kitaiskaia let me use some of her illustrations. You can find her books Literary Witches: A Celebration of Magical Women Writers and Ask Baba Yaga: Otherworldly Advice for Everyday Troubles on our local and bestseller shelves right now.

My Ogre-self is angry, rejection is getting under his leathery skin, he wants nothing more than to stay at home, eat BBQ chips in front of the TV, and waste his precious energy in fitful states of napping. He is deeply afraid to have hope for his future so he’s decided everything is just too hard; he refuses to see that there are multiple steps involved in any creative project and jumps straight to the conclusion that it’s impossible. He swats at the air, “impossible,” he says.

Each day he goes to work in his studio, pounding a hammer on a flat piece of wood. When he holds up his creation and sees that it’s still a flat piece of wood, he becomes upset and hurls it to the floor. Losing a grip on his vision, he’s blinded by self-torture. He sinks back into life-hating, counts his dirty dimes and nickels, which are barely enough for bus fare. He gets no pleasure from the small items that he does manage to buy—bread, butter, and BBQ chips—which he eats so quickly and without appreciation that he’s surprised when he looks down at his plate and sees only crumbs.

On the rare occasions that he does go outside, journeying to the store or post office, the rise of hopeful feelings tortures him. He’s pitied by nature and nature loves him; the birds, butterflies, and squirrels accost him, using their playful antics to try to make him smile or laugh even, but he chooses to ignore them and lives in a perpetual winter.

An Ogre, of course, is bound to run into a Faerie from time to time, and he is excruciatingly annoyed when they talk about what projects they’re working on (they’re always working on several things at once). He’s jealous; Faeries always spring to work quickly, they figure out what skills they have and what skills they need, and then they go about scheming, plotting, and planning their own greatness. They are confident in their artistic futures, in whatever shape that blossoming might take. The Ogre, on the other hand, believes deep in his huffy nature that he is practical, that Faeries live on another planet, they are delusional and are at risk of getting trapped and squashed like bugs because they wear their hopes and dreams on their gossamer sleeves. They are dreamers, and he doesn’t particularly like dreamers.

Trolls, he considers less of a threat. Trolls have large egos and surprisingly large social media followings, but anyone with an ounce of interest in art can see that they don’t really know what they’re doing. They peddle their wares and sometimes succeed but overall nothing they make lasts. Elves, he doesn’t mind much either, they are consummate freelancers; they’ll take on pretty much any assignment and do so without much in the way of individual flare.

When the Ogre does manage to put his work out there, he’s already expecting the worst. He presents his flat pieces of pounded wood and is crushed when people don’t seem impressed. The Ogre is an eternally wounded creature, and validates his own defeat again and again, by saying, “O me, O my, why try.” He goes back to his TV and potato chips, he sinks deeper into despair; he even spells it “dis-pair” adding an “i” for an extra “dis” to make himself feel even worse. It’s clear that Ogres are not blessed with the optimistic outlook of Faeries, the ego of Trolls, or the motivation of Elves.

Is it hopeless for the Ogre? It is not! Within each Ogre is an incredible amount of creative vision—their projects are typically large in scale and can take many years to complete. When the Ogre’s self-pity abates, in certain early hours, he jots down notes, makes drawings, etc. Soon he begins to rise with the sound of the birds and before long he has himself a routine. He turns on his desk lamp and little by little makes order out of chaos, for just as long as his self-critic shuts up. He hears a very faint voice that says “keep going.” Make no mistake though, he’s still miserable, but for short spans of time that misery escapes his focus. This brief respite from grumbling does him a world of good, and slowly his creation will begin to take on a pleasant aura.

With time, the Ogre will begin to see the pieces of his vision slide together like dovetail wood joints. The Ogre’s disposition changes. In fact, he even makes friends with Faeries and values their encouragement and energy! They seem to exhibit a blind faith in him. When he speaks about his project, they don’t laugh. Their encouragement provokes him to work harder. Soon his creation becomes more important to him than his habit of negativity—his creation begins to glow, yes glow. As he works, it begins to emit a beautiful humming sound—it starts to come alive. He blows off the remaining wood chips, dusts and polishes it until its magnificence is more magnificent than he could have ever imagined. Did this creation really come from him? It did! With a calm and collected mind, and a bit of bodily exhaustion, he unveils his creation to the public to great acclaim. He has a very difficult time absorbing the nice things people have to say so he stays quiet. His identity as a creator feels more solid now, like wood. He’s worn a path so that his next creation will follow a similar pattern, the lows will still plague him, but they will be expected and not feared this time. In the future, his creations will look back at him with love and thankfulness, he’ll smile at them and nod.