Eliza and Her Monsters(70)

“Like what?”

“Why don’t you tell me what it’s about?”

“You haven’t read it? Ugh—sorry, that sounded bad. I mean like, all of this is about Monstrous Sea, I thought you might’ve gone online to look at it . . . sorry, I’m not pretentious, I swear.”

“That’s okay. I did look it up, but I wanted to hear you describe it.”

“It’s . . . hard to explain. There’s a boy and a girl and—have you read Faust? Or seen it? You know the Faust legend, right?”

“Yes, I know Faust.”

“Okay, so the boy and girl have basically sold their souls for great power. Kind of. It’s weird. They live on this huge, distant planet called Orcus, and it’s mostly ocean. The boy and the girl are the only ones who can kill each other, and they’re pitted on opposite sides of a war—I’m not explaining it well.”

“You’re doing a fine job.”

“So the girl finds out she’s been misled by her side, and the boy tries to influence her over to his, but he turns out to kind of be the monster everyone always said he was, just in a different way. . . .”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“A long time.”

“Do you think about it often?”

“Every day. Sometimes it’s all I think about. But I haven’t been able to work on it since . . . a few weeks ago.”

“When it was revealed that you created it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The motivation is gone. It used to be part of me, something I did all the time. I don’t even know if I miss it or not.”

“Have you been working on anything else?”

“No. I’ve tried, but then I feel guilty about not working on Monstrous Sea.”

“Why do you feel guilty?”

“Part of it’s the fans, I guess. They’ve been reading it so long, and it’s so close to the end, I feel like I’m letting them down. I am letting them down. But the other part is the story itself . . . never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Nothing’s stupid, Eliza. What about the story?”

“I feel like I’m letting the story down. Like I’m not worthy of it because I couldn’t finish it.”

“Does that bother you often?”

“I’ve had a few nightmares about it.”

“Nightmares?”

“Like . . . ‘getting eaten by sea monsters’ type nightmares. So that’s normal, right?”

“It’s normal to have nightmares when you’re stressed, yes. I’ve met artists before who have experienced similar feelings—not feeling worthy of their own work, guilt over an incomplete piece, anxiety about what their fans want and how they might deliver it. It’s normal, but that doesn’t mean it’s always healthy. Eliza, your worth as a person is not dependent on the art you create or what other people think of it.”

“Then . . . what is it dependent on? What is there beyond what we create and leave behind?”

“Do you believe the people of highest worth are those who only do excellent work?”

“Well . . .”

“Let me put it this way: your brothers are athletes, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“If they lose a game, don’t they risk also losing supporters?”

“I guess.”

“Does that make their lives worth less than those of two boys who only win?”

“Of course not. That would be ridiculous. It’s just a game.”

“They might say the same of Monstrous Sea. It’s only a comic.”

“It’s still different.”

“I think you might be surprised how thin the lines between art and sports really are—some artists consider their craft a sport, and some athletes consider their sport an art. My point is, we ascribe value to the things we care most about, but sometimes we don’t stop long enough to take a look at the bigger picture. You are able to see who your brothers are, separate from what they do and accomplish, but you have trouble doing the same for yourself.”

“I . . . maybe . . .”

“Worth as a person is not based on any tangible evidence. There’s no test for it, no scale. Everyone’s got their own idea of what it is. But I can tell you that Monstrous Sea is not the measure of your value in life, Eliza. Whether or not you finish it does not determine if you should live or die.”

“But . . . Wallace. Wallace was offered a book deal for his transcription of the story, and it would completely change his life, but the publisher doesn’t want it unless it’s done. If I don’t finish, he’s going to lose everything.”

“Is it a life-or-death situation?”

“No.”

“Is he in some sort of danger only this can save him from?”

“I . . . no. But it would make things easier for him. . . .”

“It does sound difficult.”

“What am I supposed to do? That’s why I’m here, that’s why I’m trying to get through all of this and be able to draw. If it weren’t for him, I’d never think about the comic again. I want to finish the comic for him, but I can’t. If he doesn’t get this, it’s my fault.”