sketch
book 001
Discipline: Digital Drawings
neighborhood
kids
Welcome to my world—a place where characters emerge not from plans, but from the act of creation itself. I don’t meet them in full before I begin drawing. Instead, they reveal themselves as the lines take shape, their personalities, histories, and worlds forming in the process.
Each character is inspired by fragments of real people—glimpses of expression, subtle gestures, fleeting encounters that linger in the subconscious. They are not direct copies but echoes, reshaped and reimagined in ways I can’t always predict. Some arrive fully formed; others grow over time, shifting in unexpected directions as their stories unfold.
The short stories that accompany these illustrations aren’t separate from the artwork—they are part of the same process. Writing is my way of discovering more about the characters, of documenting the moment they came to life and the worlds they inhabit. I don’t dictate their existence; I simply listen, observe, and allow their stories to emerge.
Sharing these narratives with you is an invitation. As you wonder through these illustrations, you are stepping into my imagination—into neighborhoods where reality and fiction blend, where characters await discovery. Perhaps, as you wander through, you’ll meet someone new.
It’s picture day, and everything is perfect.
Katie is happy. Her hair is did. Her fit is clean. Her glasses? Shiny.
She can smell the flowers. Everything is rosy.
It’s the perfect picture day.
Felicia was the backup point guard on her sixth-grade basketball team, always sitting just outside the spotlight. The superstar ahead of her dominated the court, leaving Felicia stuck on the bench, convinced she was the real star—just waiting for her chance.
All season, she told herself that it wasn’t her talent keeping her sidelined; it was politics. The coach didn’t like her, didn’t respect her game. It wasn’t fair.
Felicia knew she was better. She took it personally.
Then, the championship game arrived, and fate handed her the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Late in the second half, the star player went down—a twisted ankle, a painful grimace—and suddenly, all eyes turned to Felicia.
She skipped to the check-in booth, grabbed the baby powder, tossed it in the air like LeBron, spit on her hands, wiped the bottom of her sneakers, and strolled onto the court with the swagger of someone who knew she was about to prove everyone wrong.
From the first inbound pass, she was TRASH.
GARBAGE.
HOT DOG WATER.
Her passes were sloppy. Every shot was a brick. The speed of the game overwhelmed her, and the moment that was supposed to define her greatness became the moment that exposed her. By the time the final buzzer sounded, she already knew the truth.
Later, she sat alone, staring at the stat sheet. The numbers didn’t lie. It was worse than she imagined.
TRASH.
GARBAGE.
HOT DOG WATER.
She sucked.
The version of herself she had built up in her head—the one who could do it all if only given the chance—had crumbled in the face of reality.
And now, for the first time, she had to ask herself—if she wasn’t who she thought she was, then who was she?
Tasha’s friends were laughing—the kind of teasing that was playful, lighthearted, meant to be harmless. She had accidentally said something silly a few moments ago, and now the joke kept bouncing between them. She smiled, played along, but inside, she wrestled with herself.
Why had she even said that? She knew what she meant. She knew exactly what she wanted to say. But, as usual, her tongue had taken a detour, steering her words in the wrong direction, leaving her standing there in the aftermath of another verbal misstep.
In response, she threw her hands up, letting out a sarcastic, defeated sigh. “I hate you guys,” she said, half-laughing, half-accepting her fate.
It was meant to be a joke—just another part of the game. But for a split second, she felt it. That little pang inside. The tug of embarrassment. Not enough to ruin the moment. Just enough to sit with her for a while.
Some hooligans on the playground were picking on Shannon, laughing, shoving, taking things too far. She tried to ignore them at first, but when they wouldn’t stop, she did the only thing she could think of—she screamed.
Unbeknownst to the hooligans, Shannon’s big sister was across the playground, deep in an intense game of four square. But the second she heard that scream, everything else disappeared.
She sprung into Big Sister mode.
Like a superhero, she launched into action—bolting across the playground, cutting through the chaos, zeroing in on the source of her little sister’s distress. And when she got there?
She pummeled the hooligans.
No hesitation, no discussion—just justice.
Big sister does what big sisters do.
It was her 10th birthday, and the house was quiet. Too quiet.
Then—surprise!
The room erupted with color as they arrived—her imaginary friends, larger than life, filling every corner with towering fluff, soft fur, swirling patterns, and glowing eyes. They looked like something straight out of a dream—creatures too big and too gentle to exist anywhere except in the depths of her imagination.
She hadn’t seen some of them in years. But tonight, they were back.
When the lights flicked on, glitter floated through the air, caught in the glow like tiny bits of magic. On the table sat a truly hideous cake—sloppily decorated by her imaginary friends, covered in mismatched frosting and lopsided candles.
They danced, laughed, and partied all night.
And when the celebration finally ended, the floor was buried in confetti and fur, little remnants of a night that felt too good to be real.
It was the best birthday ever.
Keisha had been chasing this moment since the first grade. Every recess, every attempt, every fall down the hill—it had all led to this.
And today, on the last day of fifth grade—her final day at the school—she did it.
She was King of the Hill.
It was the best day of her life, and all she could think about was rushing home to tell her dad—the one who had been training her since the dream first took root. The one who understood how much this meant.
Standing at the top, she felt like she could touch the sky. And somehow, that feeling stayed with her long after recess ended, long after the bell rang, long after the hill was just another memory.
She would forever be King of the Hill.
It was prom night. The tux was pressed, the shoes shined, the nerves barely under control.
He stood at her doorstep, flowers in hand—a bouquet carefully picked fresh.
From her lawn.
She stared at them, processing. He grinned, oblivious.
“They’re beautiful,” she finally said.
“So’s your landscaping,” he replied.
Her Father frowned.
The city was under attack. Chaos ripped through the streets, smoke curling into the sky, fear settling in like a storm.
And then—Brownie leapt into action.
She floated down into the heart of the mayhem, cutting through the sky like a Jedi, her light sword in tow, humming with energy. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch. She was built for moments like this.
This was her fight
Final Cut
I’ve always believed that the best stories aren’t the ones that overstay their welcome—they’re the ones that hit fast, land deep, and linger long after they’re told. That’s what this collection is about. Every story is a slice of life, a single moment that defines the character, whether it’s victory, failure, laughter, protection, imagination, or confidence.
I don’t want stories that drag. I want stories that move.
Each one is built on brevity with depth—a rhythm that keeps things sharp and engaging, almost like spoken-word storytelling. Absorbed fast, but felt deeply. The pacing isn’t just about efficiency—it’s about impact. A strong opening, a tight middle, and an ending that sticks.
These characters aren’t just experiencing events—they’re living through emotions that shape them. Felicia’s harsh reality check, Tasha’s quiet frustration, Shannon’s Big Sister's instinctive heroism, Keisha’s triumphant victory, Katie’s effortless confidence. Brownie’s battle, the prom night disaster, the dreamlike birthday party. Each story is alive, unpredictable, human.
At the core of it all? Joy in the ordinary.
Because sometimes, the smallest moments—winning a playground battle, getting the perfect picture, saying something that comes out wrong—are the ones that stay with us forever.
I write with movement, visual energy, and emotion, giving each piece just enough room to breathe before it shifts to the next. It’s not just storytelling—it’s design. Each narrative shaped to pull you in, hit its mark, and let you go before it loses momentum.
These stories are snapshots of life, bottled into their purest form.
Adventure Awaits…
with love + imagination
-MR. TOMONOSHi!