Logos aren't bad. They're just drawn that way.
Mine was only an internal image. Placed there by a designer friend of mine. Fed by my own spoiled greed. Wanted for the sake of want. Like domesticating a tiger with a diamond collar. Because I can. Because I wish. Because it would be fun to pat and publicize.
But I didn't want to feed it or be fed to it.
The logo was for branding. To burn a mark into the hide of my devious future career plans (are there any other kind?). It would be my pet, since my landlord won't let me have one.
After months of working either with an illustrator or to find an illustrator, I still had nothing but doodles in my head and scratches on my paper. I couldn't get what was in my mind's eye out of my mind's eye and into a jpeg.
I only draw stick people. Sick stick people. It's a gift.
One day, after venting my frustration over the phone to my mother, she responded with, "I've just drawn something. Can I mail it to you?"
I suggested a snapshot sent via text (it's faster) but, otherwise, it was on its way.
What I didn't expect was something I'd actually like. She's brilliantly talented, but not as an illustrator. She raises fruits and vegetables, bees and children. She cooks like Mozart played. She does not draw.
She sent this:
And I loved it.
She took her idea and sent it to my brother to flesh it out.
He sent this:
I took his drawing to some designer friends of mine for their thoughts.
They sent this:
And the love was eternal.
After all my frustration, dead ends, angst, and the occasional grabbing of a curl attached to my head and yanking bluntly, the answer came from a source I wouldn't have even considered: my Mom. Who isn't an illustrator. Who put the wheels in motion. After drawing out a sketch. On a scrap piece of paper. In roughly 90 seconds or less.
Hope, when it comes, may approach from the one direction you aren't looking.