"I'm Broke, But Can You Make Me a Masterpiece?"

Why custom art isn’t free just because the tools got faster

So, let me paint you a picture.

You’re an artist, illustrator, or other visual content creator who’s incorporated AI into your workflow at some point. One day, you open up Facebook, Instagram, TicketyTok, or wherever it is you go online when you feel like sharing some of your renders.

There’s a message request waiting there for you.

Maybe it’s from someone you know in passing. Could be from someone you’ve never met who stumbled across something you made at random. Either way, they’re reaching out in search of custom artwork for a CD cover, a tattoo design, or maybe just a gift for a friend.

And while they admit they’re broke and don’t have a lot of money to throw around, they’re hoping that maybe — just maybe — you can help them out. Cheaply.

Cue the sigh. Cue the eye rub. Cue the immediate inner monologue of, “Do I even have the bandwidth for this? Because I know how this usually goes…”

Spoiler: It goes like this more often than not. And yet… I might still say yes.

Let’s talk about it.

The Opening Line Every Artist Knows by Heart

“I don’t have much money, but…”

I have heard this exact sentence — verbatim — dozens upon dozens of times over the years. It’s basically the universal handshake of freelance digital artists, especially those of us who dabble in AI or otherwise use digital tools to bring our visions to life.

It’s never malicious. It’s not even always entitled. A lot of the time, it’s just how people are used to opening the door. They lead with scarcity, with apology, and with the hope that you’ll either:

• Feel bad for them and cut your rate, or…
• Be so balls-out passionate about art that you’ll do it for free because you love making art just that damn much

But here’s the thing. I do love making art. A lot. Always have and almost certainly always will. And that’s exactly why I don’t just give the things I make away for a fart and a song.

What We Really Give When We Create

When you first start sharing any sort of art online, it's never long before you start feeling... pressure. It doesn’t matter whether you’re posting paintings, poems, AI renders, divination spreads, or half-baked shower thoughts. The moment people like what you do — really like it — you’re expected to become something else entirely.

Not just talented and not just interesting, because those things are usually a given. I'm talking about the way you're expected to be nice, and accommodating, and limitlessly friendly.

And not just ordinary nice, either. I’m talking next-level, saint-tier niceness –– generous with your process, endlessly accessible, visibly and giddily grateful at all times. Ideally, you’re supposed to come off like some magical art fairy who somehow creates these deeply personal, emotionally resonant pieces and has the time and desire to walk every stranger through the mechanics of how it's done.

And if you don’t? Well. Brace yourself for side-eyes, subtle guilt-tripping, and a few thinly veiled posts in your feed about how some creators are “too full of themselves to help others anymore.” But here’s the truth. That sort of entitlement makes me deeply uncomfortable, so you're not alone if that's the way it makes you feel, too. I also don’t owe anyone that kind of access, and neither do you. 

The Myth of the Nice Artist

Somewhere along the way, we all seem to absorb this myth that a “good” creator is also a public servant with zero boundaries. They’re supposed to be constantly open to questions, full of encouragement, and ready to hand over their creative secrets to absolutely anyone just because someone asked nicely. Especially in online communities, especially if you're a woman, especially if your work carries any spiritual or emotional weight.

You’re expected to smile, nod, and say “thank you” even when someone’s hovering way too close, asking to peek into your sketchbook, or low-key hinting that they want your source files. (For free, of course.) And if you don’t play along? You’re “standoffish.” “Difficult.” “Ungrateful.” Or worse, “elitist.” 

I've heard all of those a time or three over the years, and worse. But here’s the catch. The people who honestly have the nerve to say things like that to you, all while claiming to love and respect your work? They’re not your audience. They’re consumers. And there’s a difference.

When the Algorithm Breaks Your Routine: 6 Lessons in Resilience for Creators

So, there's this massive AI art group on Facebook where I'm the primary moderator. This being the case, I've developed a daily habit of hopping on there in the mornings to see what's going on, remove anything that violates community standards, approve posts, and make sure everyone's behaving before I go start my day.

But this morning, I opened Facebook as usual, only to find the group gone instead. It had been Zucked for God only knows what reason. (The notification they gave the owner was vague at best, as it often is when it comes to Meta.)

No warning. No explanation. Just a blank space where something big and vibrant used to be. The owner appealed the decision, obviously, and the group may be reinstated. But stuff like this can't help but get you thinking about certain things when it comes to content creation and how you manage your digital presence, especially if you depend on any part of it for income.

It's About More Than Just a Facebook Group

If you’ve ever helped build or moderate a thriving online community, you probably get why the (hopefully temporary) loss of that group knocked me for a loop. It becomes part of your routine. You check in. You contribute. You help people. You share what you’re working on and cheer for others as they grow. It becomes not only a digital space, but a personal anchor.

And like most things that are part of your daily routine, you don't consciously think about what they mean to you until they're not there anymore for whatever reason. 

As someone who actively avoided anything that looked even vaguely like responsibility or required me to manage other people for most of my life, I now recognize that group as the catalyst for a lot of personal growth in these areas. I realized that under the right circumstances, I actually enjoy those things. And they make me better, as a person and as a creator.

So that group mattered. 

The Illusion of Ownership

Here’s the hard truth about platforms, though. Especially examples like Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and the like. They come and go. They operate by rules and standards that are sometimes vague and arbitrary. They can change those rules at will for any reason or no reason at all.

It's easier than most people think for their content to get caught in the crossfire through no real fault of their own.

We talk a hell of a lot about "our" groups, "our" pages. But we don't actually own any of those spaces. Facebook does. Instagram does. X (formerly Twitter) does. And those platforms can revoke access, throttle reach, or erase whole communities without notice.

The Court of the Wild Chord

They arrived without fanfare, though they were dressed for it. One by one, they emerged from the folds of the early morning into my misty garden. Creatures of fur, claw, tusk, and hoof. Each robed in velvet and brocade, each carrying a violin that hummed with more than music.

I don't know where they came from. I'd never met them before, but some part of me recognized them all the same. 

Thorne, the Boar, smelled of smoke, freshly turned earth, and secret things that only grow at night. His hooves left glyphs and symbols in the soil as he searched for a spot to make himself comfortable. The melody he played pulsed with survival, a song built from bone memory and bitter root. 

He played what must always be remembered.

Virella, the Wolf, moved like moonlight through a locked room. His mournful eyes glowed with the images of secret maps. They were maps of places I’ve only seen in dreams and misremembered moments from the past. His music had no true beginning, no end. It was best described as a misty, winding trail of breath and instinct. 

He played what must always be followed.

Halbard, the Bear, bowed gracefully and low before beginning. His coat was heavy with charms. His fingers, thick but graceful, drew forth aching laments wrapped in subtle warmth. His was the music of lost things that are desperately missed once they're gone, as well as those we've forgotten to keep remembering at some point along the way. It was the music of grief.

He played what must be respectfully mourned.

Malgore, the Goat, did not bow at all. Instead, he smirked before glancing into the four corners of the garden, as if to make sure the entire morning was listening. And then he played something that turned the air inside out. It was a vaguely dissonant melody I knew and feared. A secret I hadn’t meant to keep. 

He played what must be known. Eventually, but only in due course.

None of them spoke, even to one another. And their impromptu concert was brief. Just one short but perfect piece each. Maybe the music was meant to be a gift. Perhaps a warning or even an aging mirror that could be made bright again with care and polish. 

I suppose that is for them to know and me to contemplate.

When they were done, they vanished the same way they had come. There was no drama or urgency. They didn't make a single sound more. But once they were gone, the entire space felt rearranged in a way I could not define. Sometimes I think they were reminders that even in the elegant places you're sure you've successfully tamed, a certain wildness still remains. 

That wildness makes music. And if you're wise (and very lucky), you'll listen.

* This entry is part of The Feast of the Wandering Pen, a month-long ritual that includes writing, remembering, and return to self-clarity.

4 Ways Getting into AI Art Has Made Me a Better Writer

Juicy Burger - Shannon Hilson via Midjourney

So, as anyone who follows me elsewhere online probably knows by now, I've really been going down the rabbit hole with Midjourney and the wonders of AI-generated art lately. At first, it was really just this fun curiosity to dink around with in my spare time. However, it's since evolved into a real asset to the way I create things and explore all my different ideas.

It's also become an indispensable part of how I write and manage my online presence. Really, at one point, I really thought I'd cared about creating any kind of visual art for the last time in my life. But Midjourney has truly proven to me that I should probably never say never. Apparently, I still very much love expressing myself this way, and giving AI a try has turned out to be a very positive decision for me. 

Getting into Midjourney has also made me a better writer in some interesting ways, as well, and I can totally see where it could easily do the same for others in the larger online writing community. Here are some examples of what I'm talking about.

1. I don't have to scrounge for stock photos anymore

Not if I don't want to, anyway. I don't have to settle for choosing between good images that are seriously overused and lesser-known options that really don't fit what I'm posting very well, either. If there's a stock photo or a public domain graphic that suits my purposes for a particular post, then great. But I love that I'm no longer limited to those. 

This is especially the case when it comes to content that's tough to match with existing imagery anyway -- like creative non-fiction, personal essays, or short stories. Now I can just use AI images I may already have made. Or I can whip something up that fits in minutes. I've made custom illustrations for some of my creative writing, artwork for book covers, and more as well. It's been fantastic.

On Life and What I've Been Up to Creatively Lately

Original Image by Shannon Hilson via Midjourney

I swear I don't know where the damn time goes when it comes to these blogs I still like to tell myself I maintain. I'll realize it's been a while since my last update, but when I finally make it over to the platform to type something up, I'll see it's actually been... like... months. So long in some cases that the entire posting interface is totally different, as is apparently the case with Blogger today.

I know I keep saying this, and I'll say it again (to whatever audience I still have left or might have at any point in the future). Don't take breaks when it comes to your personal writing. I don't care how many awesome clients want to pay you good money for your time, expertise, and labor. A week off so easily turns into a month, and that so easily turns into several months. Before you know it, you're back to wondering whether you even know how to write a decent blog post anymore and unsure of where to start figuring it out.

Instead, treat whatever type of writing you want to make sure you keep doing -- blogging, newsletters, journaling, fiction, poetry, fortune cookie sayings, what have you -- with the same seriousness you would your paying freelance work. Try not to worry too much about whether it makes you money because God knows that's my problem. I have a tendency to spend my time and writing energy wherever the money is at any given time, but self-expression is crucial, too, which you'll realize if you neglect it long enough.

On Clients and Freelance Work

My original reason for taking a bit of a break from blogging and other types of writing (with the exception of the private journaling I do for the sake of my sanity and the creative writing I pump out every year during NaNoWriMo) was an abundance of well-paying freelance work that fell in my lap. It was mostly thanks to one client for whom I loved writing and still enjoy writing. But they've been revamping some things on their end lately.

Some of the revamps had to do with their reimagining their SEO strategy, which meant the blog project they had me working on became less of a priority. They're also going through some staffing changes. The editor I'd gotten to know and had been working with this entire time left last Friday, and I was honestly pretty bummed about that, as I genuinely liked the guy and enjoyed working with him. 

I don't yet know the new editor or her vision for that blog moving forward, and they're likely still figuring it out themselves. But for the immediate moment, I don't have a ton to do as far as assignments from that company go. That leaves me with a little free time on my hands after I'm done seeing to my other regulars. It feels weird to have time again, but I'm going to see if I can't use it to reestablish some sort of regular writing habit here.

The Angelus

The Angelus - Jean-François Millet (1857-59)

That painting there -- Millet's The Angelus -- is one of my favorites right now, as it makes me think of the head space I'm in these days and all of the things that are positive about it. To begin with, it depicts a couple that not only works together, but prays together, taking a moment to bow their heads for the Angelus at dusk. They're hard-working farmers that work the land, not fancy folks that live easy lives. They work hard for everything they have, but it's a good life they live and it's one they never forget to thank God for. 

When I look at that painting, I see the standard I'm aspiring to, both on my own and within the context of my relationship. My ideal life with Seth looks like that life. In fact, I think I've made a decision. Whenever I get around to fixing up my desk area and making it work-friendly again, I think I'd like to buy a framed print or canvas of The Angelus and replace the nondescript print of my mother's that's currently hanging over my desk. At one point, I thought I'd replace it with a piece of my own art, but I think this is much more appropriate for where I'm currently at in my life.

It's amazing how differently I process the passage of time when I feel like I'm being consistent about  doing something good for myself. For instance, it's now the second day of May. At my current age, time has a way of zipping by at what honestly feels like a breakneck pace sometimes and the start of yet another month normally finds me feeling disappointed in myself because of how little progress I made as far as moving my life forward over the month before. This year has been different because of the way I've stuck by my decision to make exercise a regular part of my life.