Weirdcore Drawing Ideas Novels & Stories

I come before I can get to the fun part again, but I don't even regret it because it was way more fun than watching human porn. I think Laurent is on to something with these little drawings, they work.

It sent my pulse into a full freefall. I forced my eyes back to the page. One sentence. Just write one coherent sentence. My pen hovered, then traitor sketched the rough outline of his shoulders in the margin instead. Broad. Tapered. Ridiculous. Fantastic. Now I was doodling the guy like some lovesick high-schooler with a sketchbook full of secret crushes. “You’re weird,” he muttered, almost to himself.

It’s not a bad drawing, but it’s not commission-worthy. Not thinking too hard about it, I start roughing out an entire comics page. It’s the gallery viewing. I remember enough faces. Enough to exaggerate their features into something grotesque. I remember every pretentiously ignorant comment I ever heard in an art gallery and pick the worst, then blank out most of the words so that you can still guess them, but only if you know the type of things that get said. I set the angular, gangling, ugly figures wandering through a sea of blank frames, with their comments getting more stupid in each frame. I can split each frame into a different canvas. Keep the edges angled, not square, if I can figu

"It's missing both ears." I watch as he picks up the stick this time and makes on the sand, two medium sized 'c's on both sides of the drawing. We both tilt our heads to the left at the same time and stare at the drawing on the sand. One of the eyes are way bigger than the other and the nose seems to be falling out of proportion, the shape of the head looks like that of an amoeba while the ears he just drew isn't fully connected to the face. "I think it's phenomenal," He says.

Corrian says as we pass a reading nook with oversized bean bag chairs and a shelf full of books no toddler would read. I catch one title, ‘Teeth Are Not for Biting (But Sometimes They Are)’. I raise an eyebrow. “Special how?” He doesn’t answer. We pass a hallway lined with artwork. Crayon drawings, finger paints, but some of them are odd. Red scribbles in circular patterns, shapes that look more like symbols than animals. One has a giant black figure drawn with scratchy lines and tiny words underneath it. I lean closer. ‘The Bad Ones Are Coming.’