Encouraging Drawings Novels & Stories

The drawings she and Carl had been working on all morning. I looked at the colorful pages. Stick figures and wobbly wolves and bright yellow suns. "I think that's a wonderful idea." The children moved through the tent like small rays of sunshine. Stopping at each cot. Offering drawings with solemn sincerity. "This one's for you," Carl told a wolf with a bandaged arm. "It's a picture of a really strong wolf. That's you." The guard—a grizzled warrior who had probably seen a hundred battles—stared at the crude drawing. Something softened in his weathered face.

She responded with a delightful giggle, her laughter filling the air with a sweet and uplifting melody that momentarily lifted the somber mood. “Look, look!" she exclaimed with excitement, squirming free from my embrace and darting over to the kitchen table. Amidst a collection of colorful crayons and scattered papers, I came across a heartwarming drawing. Mabel, with a proud smile on her face, pointed at the figures and exclaimed, "This is Daddy, this is Mum, and this is me," as she tapped each figure with her tiny finger.

Hopefully, we will have more to come. I pull out to show Nicoli’s drawing in the spirit of optimism. “He drew us swimming under the sea with the bear.” I beam a smile. I think it is very imaginative for him. “Quite the artist, isn’t he?” Maddie chuckles, sounding still winded. But she moves to ruffle my hair. It makes me giggle, and I lean into her hand. It’s so warm on my cold head. “Maddie-“I go a little louder, but Maddie quickly hushes me.

It was just like the writings of a computer, neatly and clearly obvious. Her perfect handwriting flows gracefully across the page, with elegant curves and consistent spacing. Each letter was meticulously formed, exuding a sense of sophistication and precision that captures attention and invites admiration. I picked up the drawings, and observed the nude pictures perfectly sketched out on blank sheets. This young Miss drawing is a mesmerizing dance of colors and lines, weaving together to create a vivid tapestry of emotions. With each stroke, she breathes life into her creation, capturing fleeting moments of beauty and depth.

Shelves filled with stuffed animals, puzzles stacked neatly in a corner, art supplies spread across a small table. Tamera ran over to show him her drawings. “I made this yesterday!” Lance stared at the colorful paper. It was a drawing of two stick figures holding hands. One tall. One small. Above them she had drawn a crooked sun and written their names. Lance swallowed. “That’s… really good.” Tamera smiled proudly. Behind him, Ragnar stepped quietly into the room. Lance turned and looked at him. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Lance glanced back at the toys, the drawings, the warm house around them.

Beside the paper and pen lay a thin box with a set of graphic pencils. A drawing kit? I opened the pad immediately and began to draw, the dream pouring through me like water down a cliff. It was vivid and fast, my fingers moving on instinct and guided by the memory that wad etched into my mind. The dizzying swirl of numbers, the images in the holographic screens, the massive glowing codes. I drew it as perfectly as I could, adding the faces of my children. After several minutes, I felt no more inspiration coming, so I sat back and stared at the sketch. My fingers had gone sore, my breathing a bit shallow.

And I ignored him yet again. He wheeled me into my office and helped me to my chair. Rotimi had been by my side for a long time, and I couldn't wait for the time to come when I would be able to walk by myself. Rotimi noticed the papers on my desk and stared at them. He picked it up from my desk and exclaimed. "Wow!" He smiled. "Your drawings are amazing, Lou," he pointed out, and I nodded in response. "When did you start drawing this?" He asked.

From the drawing, it's lunch break and students are milling about around me but I'm standing there, looking stuck and feeling exhausted from the healing process. My eyes are a muddy brown but my lips are stretched out in a wide smile. My shoulders are slumped but my nostrils are flared like I'm angry and my fists are clenched so tightly, it's like I'm trying not to go wild. Like I'm trying to rein in my demons. And I don't even remember this. “These drawings are incredible, Jeremy.” “I should know, I made them and they're called outlines.” I slap his chest playfully, “Show a little gratitude.”

I say, and the boy comes closer to me with confidence oozing from him. He hands me his drawing with a smug expression on his face. Oh, heavens, he's like a mini Harry. I take a look at the drawing, and wow. It's a drawing of a rocket, and it's so beautiful. No wonder he was bullying Lilah; his drawing is otherworldly. "Dylan, this is..." I'm at a loss for words. "Amazing, fantastic, beautiful, perfect," he completes for me in a smug tone, and I roll my eyes.

“You started homework, got bored, switched to drawing, got bored again, and moved on to your tablet?” Annie grinned sheepishly. “I was waiting for you. Math is more fun when you explain it.” “Nice save,” I chuckled, gathering up the scattered papers. “But flattery won’t get you out of fractions today.” I found her math workbook beneath a pile of sketches—surprisingly good drawings of wolves running through forests. Annie had talent beyond her years, capturing movement and emotion in just a few pencil strokes. “These are really good,” I told her, setting aside the artwork carefully. “You should show these to your dad.”