How I got started and eventually found my agent.
When people ask how I got started in illustration, I usually tell them the short version:
“I like to draw, found an agent, and here we are.“
But there’s much more to that. Here’s the long version:
I started as a graphic designer at a local print shop in NYC. A job I found at Craigslist. I worked on everything from menus, club flyers and we buy gold ads. For a while, I thought I could do this forever, but after a year or two, I couldn’t shake off that feeling like something was missing. Joy.
This was also my twenties—when I thought joy was found in glowing strobe lights of dingy night clubs and spending my paycheck on happy hours only to regret it all the next day. Fun, fast, hazy times were had, but it all got boring real fast.
Eventually I would quit that lifestyle and my job all at once, driven by a singular desire:
I just wanted to draw again.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a children’s book illustrator, so my portfolio was all over the place. I dabbled in character design and storyboard art, creating quirky characters grappling with the concept of “love.”
I’ll be honest with you, in the beginning, when it was just me and my computer and the dream to be an illustrator, those late-night drawing sessions, like creating a cute hippo playing with a Venus flytrap, to add to my portfolio seemed insane. I often asked myself, “what the hell am I doing?”. Drawing things just for my portfolio didn’t always feel rational especially since I didn’t have any other job to fall back on. I’m not sure if it ever felt sensical, until someone took my work seriously.
I’ve heard similar fears and doubts in the beginning from other artists. Sometimes I feel like that doubt is a rite of passage.
One thing I wish I had done early on was reach out to other illustrators for advice. Maybe it wouldn’t have taken so long to find an agent if I had more guidance. Instead, I blindly approached agencies and publishers, not knowing what a solid portfolio should include. I thought that just being able to draw cute things and kids would get me hired. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
My inquiries were met with rejection letters, though some agencies offered helpful feedback like,
- Include more sequential art. Tell a story without words.
- Don’t just draw a character. Show action and emotions.
- Create characters whose traits reflect their personalities.
- Remember your audience: kids. Make it relatable to kids.
- If backgrounds aren’t your strength, don’t force them.
And yes, expect mixed advice—take what resonates.
I took these suggestions, reshaped my portfolio, and kept sending queries. That became my routine; send queries, get rejected, rework, repeat. I also adopted the mantra:
'You just need ONE YES. And that every NO is just another steppingstone that leads to your YES.'
Then one day, somewhere in between cleaning the cat litter, and changing my Godson’s diapers, I got a phone call for my first paid job as an illustrator for a reputable magazine. Maybe I didn’t need an agent. Only when I got the copy, it was so abstract I wasn’t sure how to illustrate it. With a week to come up with sketch concepts, I used the whole time to sketch out as many ideas.
A few days after sending the editor my sketches, I got an email back,
"This isn’t going to work. Send me your kill fee."
If you don’t already know, a kill fee is a payment to an illustrator when a project is canceled after work has started. It compensates us for our time and effort.
In layman’s terms, I got fired from my first real job as an illustrator.
I was gutted. I spent hours in a cold sweat re-reading the email wondering if I should beg for another chance. This was a worst-case scenario for me, and for some sadistic reason I couldn’t stop reading it. After much internal debate, I convinced myself to keep it professional.
I spent the next two weeks crying in bed.
Fortunately, I have a very supportive partner who insisted I dust myself off and keep going.
It would be another 2 years until I’m offered another job from that same magazine. By then I was represented, and I was a bit more prepared. In the end I built a solid rapport with them for years working on many wonderful projects together.
Was it hard to keep going? Absolutely! It would’ve been easier to find another day job and forget this pursuit all together. But all I ever wanted to do with my time was draw. Either I move forward, or I stand still. Those were the only options.
A few months after my devastating setback and a dozen more rejection letters, I received a reply from an agency. Christina Tugeau, founder of what is now the CAT Agency, was interested in seeing more of my work. Was this my one yes? She didn’t really say yes right away, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was, she wasn’t saying no! I took that maybe and I ran with it.
We exchanged emails, with her advising me on how to polish up my work. She also gave me insight on what editors were looking for, the industry needs, and current trends. Soon, I had a portfolio curated specifically for children’s publishing. Chris also insisted I meet with some of the artists she represents at the Winter SCBWI in NYC, and they all had glowing things to say about her and the agency. After a few months of back-and-forth, Chris offered to represent me on a trial basis in 2011.
I’ve been with the CAT Agency ever since.
I’ve learned a few things since getting that one "maybe". One of the most important things I’ve learned is once you do get an agent it doesn’t mean you get to sit back and wait for offers to come in. Agents only work if you do. They can’t promote your work if you aren’t creating. You gotta keep evolving and produce with intention, with purpose, with joy.
I’ve also learned that every artist’s journey is different. For some, the path to representation isn’t so grueling. The “yes” can be clear and immediate. For others, it might start as a “maybe.” This doesn’t mean your work isn’t as strong or valid. Try not to compare yourself to anyone.
Think of it this way, if you’re struggling to find your footing, maybe your path to becoming an illustrator isn’t supposed to be straight and narrow. Because maybe one day you’ll find yourself sharing your story in hopes of encouraging a new set of artists trying to break through.
Let this be your sign to keep going. Remember, all you need is that one “yes” or a promising “maybe.” Then run with it!
Peas and love,
Niña M.