Sometime ago, I began to write a story about a boy named Edward who found himself in the clutches of a constant and unending boredom. I began scribbling down the first words into the pages of my notebook, taking the arbitrary thoughts as they came and putting them into sentences and paragraphs. Some pages into the story, I began to peer out of the windows of the house and away from the doings of Edward. I instead looked across the street, where an old man played croquet on his front lawn. I found that, though the discovery of this old man had been an accident, he and his doings were far more interesting than the rest of the story.
His name was Tim, and as
I continued to write and rewrite the story, I found that Tim remained unchanged in every draft.
With the story almost complete, I wanted to share the drawing that finally took the character I had written about and put him into a picture, just as I saw him in my mind when I first looked across the street on that dreary day.
