I miss writing by hand, even though I have a love-hate relationship with ink.
Writing by hand allowed me to crawl inside myself.
Despite seeming quiet and still, my thoughts were loud and full of life. In that space, time seemed endless and unshakeable. It was as if I were a seed planted in the earth, growing into something that only my imagination was capable of conceiving.
Lately most of my writing is pounded into a keyboard, and although I like my keyboard, getting to that space is much more difficult. Technology comes with many distractions.
I find myself researching on end, planning things out, creating charts and sketching scenery…and the more I get sucked into such distractions, the less time I spend actually writing.
So, when I’m not sitting with my laptop on my lap, I think, and I drift into daydreams. It’s easy to get lost in a daydream. It’s like reading a good book, only it hasn’t been written yet. You get to watch it unfold before your eyes.
I liked writing by hand…I liked escaping the quickness of the world around me. I liked listening to nubs scratching against thin lined paper. I liked clutching my binders and notebooks as I fell asleep. I liked the gentleness of the paper against my cheek.
Now I stare at screens…white pages…black text.
The words come and the characters take their places on the stage, but the director is distracted and so they find themselves waiting.
Perhaps I will go back to my notebooks? At least for the first draft….