Giving Myself Permission to Draw Reminds Me Of When I Gave Myself Permission To Write

Reclaiming my love of drawing

When I was a child I’d lose hours alone with a notebook, writing stories about lost and neglected animals and illustrating them myself. If you’d asked me back then I would have told you I longed to be an author and I’d also have told you how much I loved drawing. I did go on to study GCSE Art but that was where my attempts to draw came to an end. I stuck with writing for longer – though it fizzled out when I became a mother and I lost an entire decade where I did not write at all.

As a teenager, I used to sketch the characters in the stories I was working on, including The Boy With The Thorn In His Side, but post aged sixteen, I barely drew again. That’s as far as I allowed my skills to develop.

It’s sad when we grow up and lose our creativity and it happens all the time and to most people. Children are naturally creative in everything they do. They are curious about materials, they like to dance, move around, play make believe, sing, make noise, scribble and paint and make up stories. They don’t worry about being ‘good’ at it and they certainly don’t entertain the idea of making a ‘career’ out of it.

Yet as adults it is those two concerns that inevitably lead to us distancing ourselves from the creative pursuits we used to enjoy.

I remember going through a phase as a teenager where I would write little poems onto notepaper then illustrate the edges and paint over with water colours. I remember being thrilled with the results! Years later, when I finally got back into writing, I told myself it was just novel writing and that poetry was not my thing. Even when reclaiming writing, I was still putting up barriers to my creativity.

My journey with writing will never be over and I’m happy to say that as the years passed I naturally found myself progressing to embrace all forms of writing. Novels, short stories, flash fiction, essays, articles and yes, poetry! I love them all and practice them all every week.

What stopped me writing for a decade was not thinking I was good enough and not believing I could earn money from it. I’m so relieved that the urge continued to persist inside of me and that eventually it grew too big to ignore. I finally gave in and the dam burst in spectacular fashion. I recently published my twenty-third book, and earn monthly from writing in various forms on Medium. I’ve also had essays and articles published by various magazines over the years.

I have confidence in my writing now, but I still embrace progression and experimentation with it.

Back to drawing. Recently I started to get a very strong urge to draw. It reminded me very much of those urges to write I eventually gave into. It’s like a little bit of the old you poking relentlessly at your brain demanding to be let in, remembered and nurtured.

I started feeling like I wanted to create a graphic novel version of Black Hare Valley for crying out loud, that’s how strong the urge was. I gave in, to some extent. I didn’t plan to. But I was buying some supplies for my kids writing clubs in The Range and spotted some nice sketchbooks and before I knew it I had tucked one under my arm. It felt like giving myself a treat. Giving myself permission.

I’ve started playing around with ideas of sketches for Black Hare Valley. I’ve had fun with a few art tutorials and workbooks and had some helpful tips from my son who is studying A-Level Art. I’ve been pleased with my efforts but do you know what instantly occurred to me when I examined them?

one of the hares I’ve drawn for Black Hare Valley – just practicing!

They are the same level as the character drawings I did as a teenager. I haven’t gotten any better or matured my skills because I did not keep it up. Imagine how much better I would be at drawing now if I had not pushed that side of me away for so long!

Now every time I feel a bit embarrassed about my artistic efforts, and every time I feel like I am wasting my time or shouldn’t be doing it, I remind myself of how and why writing came back to me. It came back to me by itself. It hammered at my mind until I let it back in and once it had me in its grip again it refused to ever let go.

the bookshop in Black Hare Valley – a major location!

And because I stuck with it and practiced it, and tried new things, and studied it, and learnt from others, and got feedback, and kept going…. I got better!

I need to remind myself that the same thing applies to art.

the white hare – a character in Black Hare Valley – needs work!

My challenge is this: I want to illustrate the entire Black Hare Valley series myself. To do this I need to discover, embrace and improve my own style, much like writers do with their voice. I feel excited. I feel motivated. Whatever happens, it is good to have a challenge and a new hobby!

the ruins in Black Hare Valley – a major location
The raven in Black Hare Valley – another character – just pencil so far, will be going over with pen.

Life Is Story and Stories Are Everywhere

Just recently I penned a guest post for another blog, the topic of which was the reason I write. I know people write for many, many complex reasons, and I think there is more than one reason that compels me to make up stories, but certainly one of the biggest reasons is simply to live more lives. To become other people, to step into their shoes, to create them and control them, to live with them and die with them. It’s the same reason I read, I guess. So that I’m not just me, living this one life.

What I also notice, as I go through my one, short life, punctuated by the lives of the people and worlds I have lovingly created, is how stories are everywhere. How they make up our lives and our worlds, and our day to day existence. Maybe you don’t always notice them, but if you look, stories are everywhere. Everything is, in fact, a story. Or at least, the potential for one. The inspiration for one.

When you get an idea for a story, it’s because you asked a question. You asked, what if? You asked, why? You asked, what is going on here? And you wanted to know the answers to those questions, so you made some up.

Children are wonderful at doing this. Natural play in childhood is nothing but stories and make-believe. I find this utterly enchanting. How they lose themselves completely in made-up worlds. These worlds and stories might make no sense at all to us, the adults, but to them they do. They set them up and let them roll. They start them out of nothing, out of the thin blue air. And they carry them on, for weeks, sometimes years.

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Look at this Playmobil set up. My 3-year-old got given a box of the stuff this week but it was his 10-year-old brother and 13-year-old sister who set it all up like this. I walked past it while tidying up and found myself wondering what was going on. There is one fellow, an outlaw, tied to the roof of a wagon, for instance, and I wanted to know why. There are a lot of rifles placed on a table in the sheriff’s office, and this was also obviously part of the story. The kids had dinner and went back to the Playmobil. I had to do other things, but I would have loved to know what happened next to all these people! This might look like play, and it is, but it’s also a story in action, one that I am sure will develop over the next few days.

A few days ago my youngest sat down to do some drawings on his chalkboard. I wasn’t allowed to join in, I was only allowed to watch. He started drawing big circles and little circles with lines joining them, up. He chatted to himself and when I asked about it, he gave the circles all names like Hop and Plop and Poop and said they were all holding hands because they were friends. They didn’t have faces, but some did have bananas! He then drew a square around them all and said they had gone into a house. This went on for a while, with my son adding further layers to the story. It was a lovely moment, art and storytelling interlinked quite naturally!

Children are just natural storytellers, and we should notice and cherish and encourage this as much as possible. Tonight, one of my older sons early creations, came back to visit us, and I was once again reminded how naturally children construct stories and carry them on through their lives.

When he was almost three, my older son used to get scared at night and get into our bed. We would ask him about this and he would talk about odd little creatures he called the Muckoos. In the day, his sisters would question him, and he would describe them in ever greater detail. (They were small and spiky and multi-coloured and liked to steal biscuits) They also kept him awake at night with their noise and they did lots of naughty things around the house. As the story grew among us all, my son started blaming the Muckoos when things went wrong. I wrote a story about it at the time, which I still have, and may one day do something with!

I’ve never forgotten the Muckoos, and I quite often call my littlest son a Muckoo, as in my mind it sums up a small child, mucky and messy and troublesome and cheeky! I sometimes call him Muckoo Madness, and he will retort; I am not Muckoo Madness!

Anyway, sometimes we have trouble getting the littlest one to bed, and my older son has been helping out the last few nights, by pretending to be a creature called Gavin, who loves stories. This in itself, is just gorgeous. He insists on sitting on a pillow on one side of me, while his little brother sits on the other side. They both get toys to cuddle and we all choose one book to read. Then ‘Gavin’ has to go back to his cave, and my little son happily goes to bed. What a way to use storytelling to encourage a young child to sit still and listen to stories! Tonight, my older son remembered the Muckoos, and ‘Gavin’ told us he was a Muckoo, in fact, the last of his kind. Quite a poignant moment, I felt! It was magical to witness this ‘story’ resurfacing after so many years and I am quite convinced it will continue to develop further layers and complexities…

And for anyone wondering what the last Muckoo looks like, my oldest son agreed to draw one for you!

muckoo