My pen takes wing across the page.
That’s how it used to be. I used to tell others that I will never fully give in to the digital age that to which my generation was the first to experience. I accepted records turning into tapes, turning into cds, into mp3s, into streaming. I’ve sort of gave into ebooks. The physical books give me a bit of nostalgia.
But the pen. I refuse to accept the digital pen. I do love all the fonts I can use, but there is just something about displaying ink across paper. The pleasure of writing is truly by the hand. Patience is within a writing instrument. Away with the distraction of digital devices. As I am fully well aware that I’m currently writing this from the ease of my phone. My phone is just one of the digital age’s greatest invention. I still prefer ink on paper.
Through the years I think I have become distracted more by these digital inventions rather than giving into the patience of writing by hand. So much so that I have almost forgotten how to get back into the handwritten world. My journal will show a few letters that I’ve forgotten how to write in cursive. It wasn’t natural anymore. I have found that I can switch up the font in my cursive writing since I have forgotten that much.
Another problem I have ran into is a form of writer’s block that I can only describe as anxiety. My mind races through so many questions: What should I write about? Will my writing be good enough? Would friends and family members even want a handwritten letter rather than a half paragraph email? Why was writing easier back then? What has changed over the years to make this harder?
For right now I don’t have the answers. I yearn to find them though.
… Cat
