Saturday, August 7, 2010


I go through phases in writing. Sometimes I prefer to type, punching out stories rapid-fire in a series of taps. Other times, I like the feeling of a pen in my hand, the way the paper indents a little as the words go down. Sometimes the pen is best, ink soaking into the fibers and showing up stark black against the white of the paper. Other times it's blue ink, or soft-leaded pencil on yellow legal tablets, or marker on unlined sheets, or any combination of the above. I'll stick with this method for a while, it being the only way I feel productive.

Right now, I'm in a handwriting mood. No particular preference of instrument, but the idea of typing hasn't been too appealing lately. It just feels cold and detached. Other times, handwriting just won't be fast enough and typing is the only way to keep up with myself. For right now, I'm enjoying the ruffling of blank paper, the little scratching of a pen or pencil and the way I can run a finger over my finished work immediately.

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