There’s a series of coffee mugs that my dad designed.

It’s a character he created. I think he’s called Mondo. There’s a casual drawing on the front, like the character in a suit or at an office. It says “Weekdays.” On the back, the same character is in outlandish positions. Doing extreme sports. Some bizarre antics, with the word “Weekends” below it.

This cartoon character was a constant fixture in my childhood and a huge part of how I learned to draw. My dad would doodle the same face in the corners of my sketchbook while I scribbled aimlessly.

It’s not just repetition. It’s a genuine method of drawing. 

The Mondo character is a fantastic example of something pivotal to the artistic process. It’s what I call “Creative Crutch.” The most classic way of preventing art block. If you have a Creative Crutch, there’s always something to draw. 

For a while, I only drew hands. And then it was eyes. And then, about seven years ago, it became a monster. One with long fingers and big eyes and angles. 

This monster is my version of my dad’s character. I can look through my sketchbooks and find traces of this monster dating back farther than I remember scribbling the year on the corner of the page. 

The point is this. 

I don’t have a “Creative Crutch” for writing. I am sure there’s an equivalent of some sort. 

If I can’t draw, I draw a monster. If I can’t write, I stare at a blank page. 

This is what I plan to figure out over the next 28 days. I want to build a crutch. A way to exercise this form of creativity without inspiration. (Hopefully, I’ll just be inspired.) But today, when I sat down to write without any idea where to start, I wished I could draw a monster.