After my first failure at woodblock printing, I came to the conclusion that woodblock printing might not be suited for picture books, but I couldn't just give up there. On the way home, I held a review session with
"They say failure is the mother of success, so if we figure out what went wrong and use that to succeed next time, I think it'll be fine."
"Yeah, that's fair. So, what do you think caused the failure?"
I nodded along with an "mm-hmm" at his question and thought about what went wrong. Off the top of my head, I already had three reasons.
"First, I think the sketch for carving was too complicated.
"Yeah. Either we give up on woodblock printing or we get Wilma to change her drawings. We need one or the other."
I couldn't exactly have Wilma insert illustrations into every single copy, so I'd either need to find a method other than woodblock printing or have Wilma draw simpler line art. One or the other.
But Wilma had never seen any art outside of the temple. She'd only ever seen things within the temple grounds. In this situation, asking her to change her drawings felt unreasonable. At the very least, I'd need a sample to show her what I meant by "draw it like this."
"Then there was my mirror-writing mistake, right? I should've checked more carefully. This one's preventable if I'm more careful, right? Like having someone else check it with me..."
"Hmm, well, how about this—what if we separated the text board and the illustration board from the very start? Even if the text fails, it won't affect the illustrations, right?"
"Lutz, you're a genius!"
Since this was a picture book for children just learning to read, I'd vaguely imagined text and illustrations together on the same page, but there was nothing wrong with putting them on separate pages, or separating the boards into top and bottom sections.
"Then there's the carving itself. The mistakes really stood out in places."
Some parts of the letters had punched through, some illustration lines jutted out, and when printed, the flaws were glaringly obvious.
At my pointed out, Lutz puffed out his cheeks in a sulky huff.
"That's partly because we didn't have the right carving tools. My brothers' skills aren't bad or anything."
"Didn't have tools...? Your house has tons of tools because of your work, doesn't it?"
Lutz's house kept a spacious tool storage area for work supplies and had all sorts of equipment. As I tried to recall the interior of Lutz's house, he gave a casual shrug.
"Well, sure, since it's a family that's always done construction work, we have more big wood-processing tools than most houses. But we don't have tools for fine detail work. We don't need them."
That was true. The tools Father
"That drawing was too detailed to carve with a knife."
"Huh? You carved that with a knife?"
When I'd commissioned the job, I should have prepared and provided carving tools like chisels. For something carved with just a knife, the results were honestly impressive.
"Next time I order carving work, I'll send the tools along too. Could you tell your brothers thank-you and sorry for me?"
"Yeah, got it. ...Actually, how did this even end up as a children's holy scripture in the first place?"
At Lutz's question, I retraced in my mind how the project had shifted from a baby picture book to a children's holy scripture.
"Probably because the only things Wilma could draw were temple-related subjects?"
"So if we're making one for babies, it doesn't have to be a holy scripture at all, right?"
"Yeah, you're right."
Everyone said my own drawings were no good, so I'd assumed I had to leave the illustrations to Wilma. And since the only things Wilma could draw were temple-related, the story naturally shifted in that direction, and it became a children's holy scripture.
...Wait. Now that I think about it, wouldn't a children's holy scripture end up being different from a baby picture book?
I'd realized something terrible. A book for babies and a book for children required slightly different things. I shouldn't lump them all together under the label of "children."
"Okay, let's make the black-and-white picture book for babies first. We'll put the children's holy scripture on hold."
"We only have paper and black ink, so no matter how you look at it, it's gonna be a black-and-white book, right?"
"That's true, but it's a little different."
Now then, I wanted to go back to basics and think about what kind of picture book I wanted to give to babies. I was recalling what I'd learned about children's library science and children's services.
A newborn baby's eyesight was said to be only able to see things in a blur. Eyesight was closely linked to brain development, and by seeing all sorts of things every day, it gradually received stimulation and developed.
Around three to four months after birth, babies could begin to distinguish vivid colors like red, and their eyes would properly follow a moving rattle.
By about one year old, their eyesight would reach roughly the same level as an adult's, but until then, outlines tended to be blurry and pale colors were difficult to distinguish.
For this reason, picture books given to babies under one year old needed clear contrasts and easily recognizable shapes. Colors like white, black, and red were the easiest to see, and shapes like circles, triangles, and squares—clear, well-defined forms—were the easiest to recognize.
For this reason, picture books for babies from newborns to around two years old used simple lines with bright primary colors, and the words written in them were ideally simple with frequent repetition.
I remembered a type of baby picture book that was nothing but arranged geometric shapes—just a black-and-white picture book. If that was the kind, even I could draw one now.
"Lutz, tomorrow I'm going to skip the temple and stay home to make picture books!"
"Sure. I'll let the temple know, do a quick check on the Mine Workshop, and then come over to keep you company. You're always doing something dangerous when you make things, Mine."
I couldn't exactly argue with Lutz's resigned tone, so I quickly changed the subject.
"Then could you bring back ten sheets of finished paper? I want to buy some thick cardstock."
And so, the next day, Lutz arrived at my house before the third bell rang.
"Whoa, it's a total mess in here. Aunt Eva would blow her top if she saw this."
My table was cluttered with a memo pad made from failed prints, soot pencil, a slate board, and slate stylus. If Mom were here, she'd definitely tell me to clean up. But today both Mom and
To figure out what to draw, I sketched all sorts of shapes on the slate. Once I had a rough idea of what I wanted, I flipped open the memo pad and drew with the soot pencil. For judging the black-and-white impression, the soot pencil on paper was much clearer.
My father's tool set had a ruler for drawing straight lines, so I pulled it out and began ruling lines. After drawing triangles and squares, I went to draw a circle on paper and stopped dead. I needed a compass.
"Lutz, do you have a 'compass' at home?"
"...What kind of thing is that?"
"It's for drawing clean circles. You use it like this, like so..."
I drew on the slate and mimed using two fingers to trace a circle, and Lutz nodded lightly.
"Oh, a compass. We used to have one, but I don't think we do anymore."
"Aw, too bad. Then I guess I have no choice but to improvise with something else."
"Improvise?"
I fetched some string from around the house and tied it to the soot pencil. Thumbtacks would have been nice, but since I didn't have any, I dug a nail out of the toolbox and tied string to that too.
I held the nail head down with my left finger, kept the string taut, and moved the soot pencil along it. That way, I could draw a circle of sorts—as long as the center didn't shift, it would work.
"Whoa, that's amazing!"
Beautiful circles weren't something you normally needed to draw, and anyone who required them for work would just use a compass. This was apparently the first time Lutz had ever seen this method of drawing one, and he let out an exclamation of awe.
I rarely got praised, so I got a little full of myself and tried drawing circles of various sizes, but small circles were tricky to draw. When you wanted to draw lots of shapes like this, you really wished for something called template rulers and stencil rulers.
"Lutz, do you think they sell 'template rulers' or 'stencil rulers'?"
"What are those?"
"...Something like this. A thin piece of metal or 'plastic' with holes cut in it in all sorts of shapes and sizes, like so..."
You could use them to draw just outlines or to fill in shapes. They were incredibly handy when you needed to draw the same pattern many times. If they sold compasses, they might sell stencil rulers too.
I drew on the slate to explain, but Lutz just tilted his head. He'd apparently never seen anything like them.
"How do you use them?"
"Like this—you trace along the inside edge of the hole to draw a shape of whatever size you want."
"...Can't you make one out of cardstock?"
"Wow! Lutz, you're a genius!"
I took one sheet of the cardstock I was using for picture books and started making a stencil ruler. I drew shapes like circles and triangles, changing the size each time. If I could cleanly cut these out, the stencil ruler would be done.
Lutz and I split the work and drew the shapes with enthusiasm, but when it came time to cut them out, we discovered a major problem. We didn't have the right tools.
"There's no way a knife can cut something this detailed!"
We compared the cardstock to the knives we had and let out a sigh. For big pieces, we could manage. Straight lines were doable. But small circles were impossible.
"We need to include the right tools or it'll end up like the woodblock printing disaster. Let's go to the forge first and have
"What's that?"
"A small, thin blade that even I can use."
Since I was placing a commission, it was better to go in proper dress. Lutz and I changed into our apprentice clothes, brought our guild cards and a neatly written order form on forin paper, and headed together to the forge.
The artisan district was on the south side of the city, so the forge was relatively close to my house.
"Hello."
"Oh, welcome."
The master had apparently been dealing with a customer. On the table near the entrance sat several wooden plaques, and the master, seated in his chair, stroked his beard and turned his bulbous eyes toward us.
He seemed to remember my face from when I'd ordered the metal stylus before. The master looked at me and raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Hm? Aren't you the little lady from before? Another order?"
"Yes. Is Johann here?"
"Yeah, I'll go call him. Sit and wait here."
He gathered up the wooden plaques in a rough stack and lumbered toward the back workshop, his booming voice echoing as he went.
"Oi, Johann! Customer!"
After his stomach-resonating shout reverberated through the building, a boy with orange curly hair tied back in a ponytail came rushing out from the back.
"Yes! ...Oh, it's the
"Hello. I'd like to place an order, if that's all right."
"Sure, come on in."
Johann quickly prepared a wooden plaque. I handed him the order form on forin paper and flipped it over.
"This time I'd like you to make a 'design cutter.' Please take a look."
Johann touched the paper with curiosity, then looked over the diagrams I'd drawn, narrowing his eyes in puzzlement.
"I get orders for big blades all the time, but an order for something this small, thin, and fine is basically unheard of. What do you even use it for? You can't cut anything with a blade this tiny."
"I use it to cut paper—not parchment, but plant-based paper. To cut out small circles, I really need a small blade."
"Huh. ...This paper, huh. First time I've touched plant-based paper."
Johann pinched the paper between his fingertips, flipped it over several times, and waved it in front of his face to get a feel for it.
After letting him play with it for a while, I pointed at the diagrams on the back of the order form. Johann always asked extremely detailed questions, so this time I'd written out precise dimensions and intended uses on the order form itself.
"For the handle, wood is fine, but I'd really appreciate it if you could make it so the blade can be swapped out like this. The blade socket and the handle's attachment point need to fit together perfectly, or it'll wobble and be dangerous. That's why I'd like to ask you, since you're so skilled at fine work."
As Johann looked at the diagrams, he fired off several questions about the blade-swapping mechanism. While answering them and giving detailed instructions, I could see his eyes start to burn with a challenging fire. Apparently I'd ignited his craftsman's spirit.
"...Heh. That's interesting. Being able to swap blades easily is the real appeal."
"Also, could you make a lid or a case to go with it? The blade is sharp and dangerous, and since it's so thin and small, it's easy to chip or break."
"Might as well prepare some replacement blades too."
After all sorts of back-and-forth, I paid the advance with my guild card through the master.
"When it's done, could you deliver it to the Gilberta Company?"
Having it delivered to my house meant I might not have the cash on hand right away, but if it went through the Gilberta Company,
"Mine! Lutz!"
About ten days after ordering the design cutter, on my way back from the temple, we were stopped by the gatekeeper in front of the Gilberta Company. Mark had apparently said we should drop by, since they had a package for us.
When we went inside, Mark handed me a long, narrow box.
"Johann from the forge brought this by this afternoon. He seemed quite excited, saying it was a fascinating job."
When I got home, I immediately used the design cutter Johann had made to try crafting a stencil ruler. I didn't have a proper cutting mat, so I cut on top of a board while being careful not to press too hard, but it seemed like the blade would dull quickly this way.
Still, thanks to the sharp and easy-to-use cutter, the stencil ruler itself was simple to make. I placed the cardstock stencil ruler on top of the memo pad and filled in the holes with the soot pencil, and sure enough, they came out as perfect black circles.
"...Wait, what if instead of carving boards, I used thick cardstock for the picture book and applied ink through it like a stencil? Then I wouldn't need to carve woodblocks at all! Wow, am I a genius?"
Eager to try out my idea, I used the ruler to design my black-and-white picture book.
I drew things like a pine-tree shape made by stacking two large triangles vertically with a rectangle attached to the bottom one, or a face made from a circle outline with round eyes, a half-circle mouth, and a triangular nose, or a flower-like pattern I'd made with the string-compass approximation when creating a hexagon—I drew all sorts of things, happily sketching whatever came to mind.
Then, while my family kept telling me "It's time to stop," I used the cutter to cut them out and assembled the stencils that very night.
"Lutz, look! It's done!"
The next day, I showed off the finished stencils to Lutz in high spirits. Each design was about A5 in size, cut from cardstock halved from the original sheets.
Lutz looked at all ten sheets of cardstock and furrowed his brow in helpless confusion, eyeing me with suspicion.
"Hey, Mine. Are these drawings really... going to make babies happy?"
"Y-Yes, they will! Black and white have clear 'contrast,' and since it's just combinations of shapes, it doesn't matter whether the art is good or bad, right?"
At my explanation, Lutz's already skeptical eyes somehow became even more skeptical.
"Well, if you're convinced, then I guess that's fine."
Still looking dubious, Lutz started working on the picture books in the workshop that afternoon. This time, following the stencil method, he used a brush to apply black ink. For the fine lines, the brush tended to wrinkle the paper, so I had him use a thin stick like a cotton swab with a scrap of cloth wrapped around the tip, dabbing lightly to apply the ink.
"Wow, amazing! It's done!"
"...Lady Mine, what is this?"
"What is it used for?"
The children crowded around and peered over curiously. While having a gray-robed priest line them up on a shelf to dry, I answered with a beaming smile.
"It's a picture book for babies."
"...Babies?"
"Huh?"
Every reaction I got was ambiguous. Tilting heads, averting gazes—the vibe around me clearly said this made no sense, and I shouldn't bother trying to explain further. As expected, nobody understood. I just wished the world would catch up to me sooner.
It was lonely having no one who understood, but the pages of the black-and-white picture book were done. Next, I wanted to display it like a folding screen, so I needed to glue the finished pages onto boards, punch holes in the boards, and string them together.
...For the paste, I'd need to make animal glue . I should get on that.
The black-and-white picture book is done. Even Mine, who has no physical strength, can make it with stencils.
Next time: the children's holy scripture.