Each morning, I would stagger out of bed and sit at my kitchen table with a journal and a pen. For the next fifteen minutes, I would fill three pages with whatever oozed out of my bleary brain — anxieties, questions, nightmares, prognostications.

It was part of my quest for clarity and perspective, a journey that had led me through religion, philosophy, self-help, and finally to Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. Her book prescribed a weekly artist’s date and morning pages, and I had dutifully followed both.

By the time I filled my third volume, I gave up.

Instead of feeling lighter, I felt heavier. My morning pages just gave shape to the worst impulses plaguing my thoughts.

I needed something different—a practice that would help me see beyond my anxieties rather than just document them. Something that could engage more than just the analytical, word-spinning part of my brain.

Then, in one serendipitous week, I discovered D. Price’s zine, Moonlight Chronicles, Hannah Hinchman’s book, A Life in Hand, and Richard Bell’s blog, Wild Yorkshire.

All three practiced an art form that was brand-new to me: illustrated journaling. They charted their daily lives with a technique that was beautiful and honest, witty and unpretentious. Instead of spiraling in words, they used images to capture moments, find beauty in the ordinary, and literally see their lives from a new perspective.

The first time I tried drawing alongside my writing, something shifted. Rather than ruminating on problems, I found myself truly observing the world around me. My anxious inner voice quieted as my attention turned outward.

It was just the inspiration I needed.

That shift—seeing rather than spiraling—became not just a practice, but a habit. And over time, a way of life.

Over the years, I’ve filled shelves with sketchbooks. I’ve drawn small, everyday things like lunch, clutter, pigeons, and subway trains—and big things like deaths, births, and terrorist attacks. Page by page, I’ve used my sketchbook to record the emotions, the beauty, and the changes that have shaped my life. And along the way, my drawing, painting, writing, and design skills have quietly evolved.

In 2013, when I first began teaching online, my intention was to share this practice. But I wasn’t ready to teach it. I didn’t have the skill or the confidence. I didn’t yet know how to break it down or explain what made it powerful. And honestly, I wasn’t sure anyone else would be interested in putting their life into the pages of a sketchbook.

Since then, I’ve learned a lot. Turns out, people are deeply curious about this kind of journaling. I’ve made video tours of my sketchbooks that millions of people have watched. And again and again, I get the same comment:

“I wish I could do that.”​
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So a few months ago, I finally decided to make the course I wish I’d had. I spent weeks going through my old journals, pulling out lessons and ideas. I wrote and rewrote scripts that would make the process simple, engaging, and clear.

I knew that if I could encourage someone to try this practice for just a month, it could become a lifelong habit.

The course is called Start Your Sketchbook Journal. It includes 31 daily video lessons, each one short and to the point. Every lesson ends with a simple assignment you can complete in 25 minutes or less. No perfection required.

(I started my journaling practice when I had a demanding job, a small child, and a disabled wife — so I know what it’s like to have a busy life and still find time to make a little piece of art in my spare time).

If this sounds like something you’ve been looking for, I hope you’ll give it a try.

We just launched the course, and for a short early-bird period, it’s available at 50% off.

You can start today. Watch a lesson over breakfast. Draw what’s in front of you. And begin the adventure of a lifetime.

That’s how I began. And it changed everything.

I hope it will do the same for you.

​Here’s where to begin.

Your pal,

Danny