I bought the sketchbook because I liked the idea of drawing. By the time I got home, I had watched enough advice to believe I first needed a better pencil, a course and a plan for consistent progress.
On Saturday, I put a pear on the kitchen table and tried the pencil I already owned. The pear was slightly bruised. This seemed fair, given my abilities.
The first drawing looked like a shoe with a stalk. I turned the page and immediately began wondering whether I should photograph the process.
There was nobody to show.
I had not promised anyone a drawing. There was no class to submit it to, and I had not told the internet that I was becoming a person who drew fruit.
That left an unexpectedly manageable task: look at the pear and make some marks.
I drew it from the side. I drew the shadow. I erased a line so enthusiastically that the paper became shiny in one spot. The second pear looked more like a pear, although it appeared to be leaning against an invisible wall.
I stopped while I still liked it.
After a while, I made tea and looked through the pages. I could see things I would change next time. I could also see that I had spent an hour interested in something other than a screen.
My sister visited later and asked about the sketchbook. I showed her the shoe pear first. She laughed, then asked if she could draw one.
We used the same pencil. Her pear looked rather like a bell pepper. We kept both drawings.
The following weekend, I drew the mug. I did not buy anything first. The handle caused trouble, but by then trouble with a handle was part of what I had chosen to do with the afternoon.
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