Let me tell you a secret I’ve been carrying around for years: I cannot draw.
Like, at all.
If you ever saw me try to sketch a person, you’d think I was illustrating a police report from memory after losing my glasses. My stick figures? Wobbly. My circles? Egg-shaped. My attempts at shading? Let’s just say they look like suspicious bruises on whatever unfortunate object I’m trying to bring into existence.
But the other day—while procrastinating on something important, I’m sure—I tripped over this Udemy class called How to Draw Everything.
Everything. As in… everything? Bold claim, friend. Very bold.
And yet the title hooked me. It was cheap, the reviews were glowing, and suddenly I’m hovering over the “Buy Now” button, thinking, “Well, maybe this will help me graduate from tragic stick person to… I don’t know… a slightly less tragic stick person?” So I bought it. And now here I am, telling you about my grand plan to learn how to draw next year.
I already know it’s going to be messy.
Why Drawing? Why Now?
Honestly, I’ve wanted to learn for years, but every time I sat down with a pencil, I immediately regretted all my life choices. My brain would chant things like: What even IS perspective? or Why does this apple look like a potato that’s seen things? So I’d give up, put my pencils back into their little cup, and return to something I can do—like writing, or making coffee, or reorganizing my bookshelf for the seventh time.
But something about this class felt… approachable. Maybe it’s the fact that the instructor promises to start with literal scribbles. Scribbles I can do. I’m practically a scribble savant. There’s something kind of nice about the idea of starting from zero without the pressure of impressing anyone—including myself.
Plus, the truth is, I’ve been craving a new hobby that doesn’t involve a screen. I’ve spent so much time glued to my computer lately that my eyeballs have started staging quiet protests. Drawing feels like a way to sneak back into the land of the tactile—paper under fingertips, graphite smudges on the side of my hand, that soft scratchy sound pencils make when they’re trying their best.
The Fear of Being Bad (Hi, It’s Me)
Now, let’s talk about the part that freaks me out: I’m going to be terrible at this.
And not the adorable kind of terrible where friends go, “Aww, you’re actually really good!” No. I mean the kind of terrible where people tilt their head, squint, and say, “Is that supposed to be a dog?”
But maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe it’s okay—maybe even fun—to deliberately be awful at something at first. I think as adults we forget that we’re allowed to be beginners. We forget that every skill starts as a clumsy mess, and that the clumsy part is half the charm. Kids don’t care if they draw a house that’s leaning like it’s had a long night. They just draw. They enjoy it. They feel the crayon drag across the page and think, “Look what I made!”
I want some of that energy back.
And who knows? Maybe by the time December rolls around next year, I’ll have a binder full of drawings that actually resemble things. Or maybe I’ll have a binder full of blobby experiments that look like creatures from a low-budget sci-fi film. Either way, it’ll be proof that I tried. And honestly? I’m kind of looking forward to seeing just how weird my early drawings get.
Supplies Have Been Purchased (This Is Getting Real)
Of course, the second I decided to learn how to draw, my brain whispered, “You know… you should buy supplies.” And suddenly I’m browsing mechanical pencils like they’re exotic pets. I’m reading strangers’ opinions on sketchbooks, erasers, and something called a blending stump (which I originally assumed was an enchanted stick).
I have now acquired:
- A sketchbook that’s way too nice for a beginner
- A pencil set that makes me feel like I should be wearing a beret
- A kneaded eraser that looks like a sentient lump of putty
- Unjustified confidence
I suspect the eraser will become my best friend.
What I’m Hoping For
I’m not trying to become Michelangelo—honestly, I’d settle for being able to draw a cat without it looking like a melted marshmallow. What I want is to feel that spark when something you make actually resembles the thing you were aiming for. That little jolt of, “Oh hey, look at that—I made a line go where I wanted it to!”
And if nothing else, I think it’ll be good for my brain. A chance to slow down, focus on shapes and shadows, and maybe—just maybe—enjoy the meditative grunt of erasing the same line for the tenth time.
Wish Me Luck
So yeah. This is the plan: next year, I learn to draw. Or at least attempt to draw. Or at least doodle with intention. I’ll keep you posted on the progress, the disasters, the accidental creatures, and the surprising little wins.
And if you’ve ever wanted to pick up a creative hobby you’re hilariously bad at—join me. We can make lumpy apples together.
What happens when the heir to a kingdom is bound by the curse of the wolf? For Prince Norian, the answer comes with blood, fire, and the terrifying knowledge that dark magic has singled him out. As shadows close in, he must protect his people from an enemy who will stop at nothing to seize the throne. Danger, destiny, and deadly secrets entwine in Norian’s Gamble.