Novel & Cerita Cómo Dibujar Un Libro

I sat in bed with my back pressed against the headboard. My big pink drawing book on my lap. I bit my thumb nail as I blankly stared at the drawing book. I've been meaning to open it and get back to maybe drawing out some designs but something is holding me back. I haven't put a pencil against the pages of this drawing book for years. Maybe I just don't have it in me anymore. I sighed as I ran my right hand over the cover of the drawing book. After taking in a deep breath, I opened the page by the marker and looked at the last design I made.

There are drawings of the house, more of us. In the bottom drawer, buried under a bunch of pencil sharpeners and other tools, there’s a leather bound book. Almost like a journal. There’s a design on the front of it that nearly reminds me of the Midnight Protector’s logo but far more intricate. It’s hand sewn in the same color as the leather.

’ ‘Thank you Mama. As soon as I put Mallory to sleep I switch the light back on. I pull a sketch book and pencil from the study table. I turned to a blank page of the sketch book. I hold a HB pencil on my right hand. I grip the smooth body of the blue pencil and positioned my fingers with just right distance from the very tip of the pencil. The pencil is stuck between my middle finger at the bottom, index finger at the middle and thumb on top of it. I lightly grasp the pencil and carefully begin to draw a line. I started to sketch a pair of eyebrows with moderate shading followed by the eyes.

As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space. Ace's fingers moved skillfully over the pages, his eyes scanning each drawing with a mix of pain and yearning. As he turned the pages, I leaned in closer, mesmerized by his talent, my gaze fixed on his strong fingers gently handling each page. Each one unveiled a new design, a new narrative. On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow.

I ask her, still watching her eyes scanning fast over the pages before they finally blink up at me. “Yeah, I am,” she plasters a smile on her face and turns to another page of the book, “I’m just trying to make sense of some of these techniques. The illustrations are a little… weird.” Lies. “Reading them too fast won't help you,” I cork a serious brow at her, “To make sense of them, you have to actually pause and study them closely. Do you want me to help?” She waves a dismissive hand. “I think I’ll try to get a hang of them on my own first, then ask questions later.”

And she made some round and straight lines. His lips twitched faintly. She had clearly tried to show him the way to her house. Even if she herself didn't know the way correctly. Just by her imagination she had drawn a map for him so that he would come to her house. But little did that poor thing know if he wanted he can reach to her apartment within minutes without any map. He closed her drawing book keeping it back on the table and fished that paper in his pants pockets.

Instead of writing, I start doodling in the margins. Lines turn into shapes. Shapes turn into patterns. I shade them in, let them overlap. Sometimes they turn into fists. Sometimes wings. Sometimes flames licking up the side of the page. I do not mean for them to, but my pen seems to know what it wants more than I do. The quiet hum of the building settles around me. I hear a door close somewhere down the hall. Faint footsteps pass by, then fade. A soft murmur of voices filters through the walls and disappears.

The one I never leave unattended. I flip to the very back, past my goals for the semester and my budget spreadsheets. On the final, blank page, someone has sketched a small, surprisingly detailed drawing of a girl sitting at a library table. She’s biting her lip, her hair tucked behind one ear, looking completely lost in a book. Underneath the sketch, there’s a single sentence that makes the air leave my lungs.

She was drawing from all the way in. He thought about the library seven-year-old drawing the library corner from all the way in. He thought about the corner drawing itself through the attending person. He thought about Ellie drawing this corner that she had drawn in the sketchbook since she was nine, now drawing it from inside it for the first time. He thought: the sketchbook drawing and the inside drawing are the same drawing at last. He thought: the imagined building and the real building have arrived at each other.

he said quietly, walking back to sit beside me. I handed him the picture book again, but this time, instead of going through the words, I flipped to a blank page in the back. “Want to draw?” I asked, pulling a small pencil from my bag. His eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly. “Yes!” I couldn’t help but laugh as he immediately leaned over the page, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He sketched a lopsided sun, a few flowers, and what looked like a little house. It was rough, shaky, but the joy on his face was undeniable.