Writing By Hand

Pen laying on lined notebook page - Courtesy of Substack’s AI Image Generator

I have always been a writer – at least in my own mind. For as long as I can remember I have been writing stories, letters, reports, opinion pieces, song lyrics, or journal entries. It has always been my love and my desire. The only reason I did not pursue it as my career is that there just wasn’t a lot of support from my family at the college age. They loved my writing but continuously warned me that “there just wasn’t any money in it.” I didn’t have the courage or confidence to shrug off the warnings and pursue the dream so I moved in another direction in terms of my career pursuits. With that being said, there was never a time when there hasn’t been an empty page begging me to write.

These days, of course, most of my writing is done on my laptop. The empty page is a blank screen but the concept is still the same. There is a vacant space that seems to be beckoning to me, urging me to create, to share my thoughts, to release pent up thoughts and emotions. I do enjoy my fingers flying across the keyboard but I must admit that it isn’t as personal as when my hand clutched a pen, transferring slices of my soul onto a lined page.

There was an article in the Epoch Times the other day that got me to thinking about this. Walter Larson wrote an article (linked below) that explored the power of writing by hand, It is a very interesting article with a surprising take-away, writing by hand is more stimulating than typing and also creates a greater bond between the writer and the page. In one of my “stroke my beard” moments, I contemplated this and felt immediate agreement. There truly was something more special about the time spent with pen in hand. It took more concentration, more effort, became much more the labor of love. Larson points out that most love letters, even today, are penned by hand. It is simply more personal, more intimate, more soulful.

As I was pondering this, I was all too aware that I am not longer capable of that type of writing. My hand cramps easier and, sadly, my penmanship has deteriorated to the point of being almost unreadable. When I write a message in a Birthday or Anniversary card to my wife, she often says that she can just figure out enough words to assume the meaning of the sentence. Now, that kind of kills the romantic element of the words but I guess it’s the thoughts that count.

It started decades ago when I was putting my initials on countless checks, invoices, reports, etc. The KN became a K with a circle around it. The signature changed. You can see the K but then it is just a flow of some sort of jibberish. About the time my son stopped being taught cursive in school, Dad’s cursive took a nose dive and could have been used as an exemplary slide in a “The End of Cursive” lecture. It became so bad and it has never recovered. I can write a legible paragraph if I really concentrate and force myself to write slow enough. However, the longer I write, the worse it will become.

So, there is not going to be a magical rendezvous with the blank page begging me to write. Whether it is as intimate or soulful or not, my forever relationship is now with the blank screen and a keyboard. I am, however, vowing to do my journaling the old fashioned way but it will be printed. I have said the last rites and final good-byes to my Cursive, filing the dreams of ever writing like that again into the Never Again folder. All good things do come to an end.