Drawing out inspiration

I spent my Monday designing a parachute that turns into a blimp (or Dirigible) when deployed. It was invented by a character I created named Oscar St. John, a turn of the century london detective who solves msyteries because he's bored and wants to test his crack-pot inventions in practical application. I don't know whether to provide him with a sidekick or not. He's no Holmes. I can honestly say I respect Sir A.C.D.'s work, but I've never read any of it. I just started drawing and he came about. Ever since I took a class called Creativity: ways of seeing, I've recalled my love of drawing. I am a visual person and I tend to learn that way. I have been ignoring the visual instinct in order to cultivate my writing ability. Stories are more interesting that plain pictures to me anyway. Films are touched by to many hands. Paintings don't tell backgrounds or family history or the end-all question of "Why?" They are for introspection and I've looked inward long enough. People can only be mad that their daddies for preferring beer and broads to huggies and hugs for so long. My parents are still married, going on 35 years. I don't have the need to stare at a painting all day, although I have, and can appreciate those who choose to do so. I respectively, decline. I'm also working on a Lit Fic piece that doesn't have a meaning or story yet. It's ramblings. Kind of like sitting so still you feel like your moving. The meaning is buried in itself.