My first inclination is to stop her, to reach out and fold my hand around the girl’s fingers. She’s holding a soft 2B pencil instead of the regular HB grade and she’s sketching while she should be writing. I am offering a guest workshop on creative writing in the final year at my former secondary school in the Dutch city of Heerlen.
The pupils have been working on a possible plot for their story first and now it’s time to flesh out their main character. They have been instructed to make lists of their protagonist’s likes and dislikes, quirks, habits, desires, and physical characteristics.
I’ve encouraged them to write down everything that comes to mind, from the position, shape, and colour of their character’s eyes—which could, for example, be deep-set, marble-round, and sage—to their character’s hobbies—like being a pet bunny breeder, or an on-the-side barista.
I’m walking through the classroom to take stock of their progress and to help by asking questions and offering suggestions—Did you think of food your protagonist likes? Where do they work?—when I notice one of the students ‘misinterpreting’ the assignment, using drawings rather than words to envisage her character.
Standing behind her, I take in the fine details of her sketches. The crooked nose is a tad too small for the portrayed face. The lightly drawn creases in the skin around the eyes and mouth suggest a mild passing of time. She’s added text bubbles. Fine, sharp arrows connect the bubbles to parts of the picture.
It strikes me how the descriptions in the bubbles are far more accomplished than those of most of her peers—She loves math because its predictability makes her feel secure; Her eyes are an unusual blue, like the violets in her grandmothers’ garden; she always wears her mama’s feather jacket because it still smells of her.
It may be a coincidence, but I can’t help shaking the thought there’s a causal relation between her drawings and the richness of her writing.
Glancing over her shoulder, my hand hovers in the air, and the words I intended to whisper—Try to write, not to draw—freeze on my lips. Instead of gently taking hold of her fingers to bring her drawing to a halt, I pat her shoulder encouragingly.
After all, what do I really know about the relationship between drawing and writing? I never gave it much thought. Is drawing indeed linked to writing stories and if so, how? And considering this (possible) connection, how can drawing encourage us to write better or different narratives?
Consorting Maps and Wild Pictures
Enticed by these questions and the girl’s drawings, I go through my writing notebooks hoping to find an answer, when arriving home after the workshop. I haven’t frequently used my notebooks in the last few years; I’ve increasingly written on my laptop.
But flipping through the sheets, the further back I go in time, I come across various doodles accompanying my writing. Interestingly, most of them don’t have anything in common with the ideas or narrative I was working on. In the image below, for example, it looks like I was exploring different ways to describe engine sounds, but the drawings are unrelated.
This doesn’t apply to all my doodles, which can be illustrated with the sketchy apartment floorplan below. The story I was working on when I drew this, was set in this same fictional apartment.
Looking into the academic literature on the relationship between creative writing and drawing to make further sense of my doodling, it appears the topic has only recently been addressed. This negligence can be attributed to the long-dominant disciplinary approach in literary studies and a lopsided focus on text rather than image.
As a result, drawings (particularly when not published with the story) have been considered mere by-products of the creative writing process and dismissed as uninteresting for academic study and reflection (cf. Wright, 2015). Furthermore, doodling is in general associated with idleness and nonsense.
After all, “the word ‘doodle’ derives from the German for ‘fool’ (dudeldopp) and the English verb ‘to dawdle’ (…) Hearing the word ‘doodler’ we think of someone whose mind wanders away from a serious (and usually written) task” (Wright, 2015, p. 68).
We should, however, be careful to write of doodling that easily as uninteresting and unhelpful, as several case studies point in the direction that drawing is considered integral to and helpful for the creation process of several writers.
Most notable are the studies of the sketches by Joseph Conrad (Warodell, 2014; 2016; 2017; 2022) and by Oscar Wilde (Wright, 2015; 2022). Conrad and Wilde were both meritorious draftsmen, with Wilde even having received artistic training. Both authors also doodled a lot while writing.
The artistic accomplishment and composition didn’t matter to either of them when doing so, as many of their sketches appear to have been executed rashly. In his Poetry Notebook (1881), Wilde, for example, often drew quick portraits of (imagined) persons in which facial features were frequently out of proportion—leaning almost towards caricature.
Impacted by his career in the marine, Conrad’s early manuscripts contain many hand-drawn maps of fictional worlds and top views of rooms. Contrary to the detailed maps in some of his final manuscripts, these are usually incomplete, abbreviated, and sketchy.
The unfinished nature of Wilde’s and Conrad’s drawings encourages us to consider them in relation to the writing process during which they were made.
Making a first attempt at this, literary scholars Johan Warodell (2016) and Thomas Wright (2015) convincingly show that part of the drawings and doodles in Conrad’s and Wilde’s manuscripts must have served as visual explorations of the fictional worlds and characters the authors would later create in words.
By extension, Warodell claims these visual exercises mirror and perhaps even flow over into Conrad’s sensory writing style. Indeed, just by reading the first sentences of Conrad’s most well-known novel Heart of Darkness, first published in 1902, it becomes clear how starkly visual Conrad’s style is:
The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the turn of the tide.
The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits.
A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness. The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth. (Conrad, 1996, p. 12).
The strong perceptual sense of these lines makes it almost effortless for readers to imagine the fictional world of A Heart of Darkness. This holds up even more than a century later and is probably a reason why the novel is still read today.
In addition, drawing possibly allowed Conrad and Wilde to let their minds wander without interrupting the writing process, as their pens kept moving across the paper.
In her insightful review of Conrad’s Decentered Fiction (Warodell, 2022), Kim Salmons (2023) discusses how Warodell’s analysis demonstrates that Conrad’s doodles reflect the theme of distraction central in many of his written works:
[C]haracters are revealed as chewing their moustaches (Nostromo [1904]), “toying with a teaspoon” (94) (Chance [1913]), and “endlessly scraping [a] nail with a penknife” (Under Western Eyes [1911]), demonstrating that throughout Conrad’s texts there are “so many moments of distraction” (104) [….] Conrad equally distracted himself while telling stories, with activities—doodling in the margins, sketching maps, playing chess with his son John—that focused his mind on the writing process. (Salmons, 2023, p. 383-384)
As such, Conrad’s doodling should be interpreted as a way to gain focus and an extension or precursor of the themes of waiting and distraction in Conrad’s stories.
Something similar can be claimed about Wilde’s work. Drawing and painting play an important role in The Picture of Dorian Gray (2008[1892]), as this (unfortunately) only novel by Wilde revolves around the fictional portrait of Dorian Gray by painter Basil Hallward.
We can thus safely conclude that drawing wasn’t just a byproduct but a vital element of Wilde’s and Conrad’s writing processes, which 1) helped them to explore and test fictional worlds and characters, 2) fed into rich descriptions and their style, 3) allowed their minds to wander—which is essential for imagination and focus—while staying immersed in writing, and 3) related to the topics and themes they tackled.
Why it Works: Drawing as a Developmental Precursor
Interestingly, educational studies of creative writing show these effects aren’t limited to Wilde and Conrad. Various experiments shed light on how pupils in primary and secondary education write considerably better stories when using drawing in the early stages of writing.
Drawing amongst others helps them to 1) amass ideas, 2) envisage and organise the plot of the story, and 3) add detail and narrative drama to their texts (cf. Caldwell & Moore, 1991; Collins & Reid, 2023; Dunn et al., 2020).
An explanation for this positive impact on creative writing can be found in the observation that drawing is a developmental predecessor of writing, as children generally draw before they write. Drawing is, furthermore, experienced as less bound to fixed rules than writing (cf. Caldwell & Moore, 1991). As a result, novice creative writers may feel freer when using drawings to coin ideas for a story, as they don’t have to worry about correct spelling and grammar.
The perceived lack of strict rules for drawing as an earlier developmental stage also makes drawing cognitively less demanding, which frees up mind space to focus on the story’s organisation and the generation of ideas (cf. Caldwell & Moore, 1991; Dunn et al., 2020).
Another explanation for the added benefits of drawing for writers can be found in the widely held idea that creative writing is
a process which is visionary at its core […] In fact, creativity research stresses the role of nonverbal processes such as imagery in generating ideas during writing (Khatena, 1979; Torrence, 1979; Wallas, 1926). According to Torrence (1979), for example, the use of sensory modes of thought is a prerequisite for the creative process. (Caldwell & Moore, 1991)
If creative writing begins as visual thinking, the translation of initial ideas in images might come more naturally than when translating these ideas into words.
To conclude
The sketches authors produce while writing aren’t mere byproducts but vital aspects of the creative writing process. As recent studies show, doodling helps writers amass ideas, envisage and test plots, and create rich descriptions.
Doodling, rather than a simple form of distraction or procrastination, can be a helpful tool in creative writing. And so, writers and creative writing teachers should embrace rather than reject this practice—which is why I treated myself to a new paper notebook.
In sum, the doodling pupil in my writing workshop was onto something when she chose to draw rather than only write to imagine her fictional character. I am glad I suppressed my first instinct to stop her.
Why make doodling part of your writing practice?
- It helps you to amass ideas
- It allows your mind to wander, which helps your imagination to flow without interrupting the writing process
- It helps you to write richer descriptions
- It helps you to envisage and tighten the plot of your story
But what if you can’t draw?
Don’t worry. It’s not about drawing well, but about generating ideas and organising story elements rather than artistic accomplishment. You can alternatively also make use of digital tools.
Ginger Collins and Stephanie Reid (2023), for instance, show how digital comic-making tools equally support narrative writing skills. According to them, an advantage of these tools is that they allow one to quickly come up with and try out different plots by creating storyboards.
Further reading (cited sources)
Bradshaw Foundation. (n.d.). Geometric signs and symbols in rock art. Retrieved March 24, 2025, from https://www.bradshawfoundaBradshaw Foundation. (n.d.). Geometric signs and symbols in rock art. Retrieved March 24, 2025, from https://www.bradshawfoundation.com/geometric_signs/index.php
Caldwell, H., & Moore, B. H. (1991). The art of writing: Drawing as preparation for narrative
writing in the primary grades. Studies in Art Education, 32(4), 207–219.
Collins, G. G., & Reid, S. F. (2023). Using digital comic creation to improve adolescents’
written narratives. In Using technology to enhance special education (pp. 159–180).
Conrad, J. (1996). Heart of Darkness (pp. 17–95). Palgrave Macmillan. (Original work published 1902)
de Roder, J. H. (2001). Het onbehagen in de literatuur: Essays. Uitg. Vantilt.
de Roder, J. H. (2002). Poetry: The missing link? In F. Brisard & T. Mortelmans (Eds.), Language and evolution (pp. 15–26). Antwerp Papers in Linguistics, 101.
Dunn, M. W., Miller, D., Stair, M., & Welsh-Griffin, H. (2020). Glimpses inside the minds of young writers: How children plan texts with art. Journal of Research in Childhood Education, 35(3), 503–519.
https://doi.org/10.1080/02568543.2020.1743395
Haverkort, M., & de Roder, J. H. (2003). Poetry, language, and ritual performance. Journal of Historical Pragmatics, 4(2), 269–286.
Mercurio, J. R., & Gabelman, D. (2025). The form and theory of literary doodling. Cambridge University Press.
Salmons, K. (2023). [Review of the book Conrad’s decentered fiction, by J. A. Warodell]. MFS Modern Fiction Studies, 69(2), 381–384.
https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/mfs.2023.a899936
Von Petzinger, G. (2017). The first signs: Unlocking the mysteries of the world’s oldest symbols. Simon & Schuster.
Warodell, J. A. (2014). Conrad the doodler. The Cambridge Quarterly, 43(4), 339–354.
Warodell, J. A. (2016). The writer at work: Hand-drawn maps in Conrad’s manuscripts. Conradiana, 48(1), 25–45.
Warodell, J. A. (2017). Conrad’s painterly drawings. English: Journal of the English Association, 66(252), 45–69.
Warodell, J. A. (2022). Conrad’s decentered fiction. Cambridge University Press.
Weusten, J. (n.d.). Writing notebooks.
Wilde, O. (1881). Poetry notebook. Autograph manuscript of many poems, in a notebook illustrated with numerous sketches (140 pages). Digital Collections – Free Library.
Wilde, O. (2008). The picture of Dorian Gray. Oxford University Press. (Original work published 1891)
Wright, T. (2015). Wilde the doodle dandy. The Wildean, 47, 65–89.
