This morning I’m not thinking so much about the content of my writing [mush], but the actual process of writing.
I touched on my obsession with notebooks, in my previous post. These little beauties are used for my thoughtful writing. Yes, I do have my moments. The times when I want to stretch out on my chaise longue and write in longhand, with a beautiful, ink pen. Okay, the bit about the chaise longue is fabricated, but the rest – all true.
If I write in longhand I find that I become more descriptive. I take pleasure in seeing the words forming at the end of my pen. I use my best handwriting – I don’t want to mess up my beautiful notebook. Just the very process of purchasing the notebook, for whatever reason it attracted me to it, prevents me from spoiling it with messy handwriting. This book must be as special on the inside, as it is on the outside.
If I’m feeling really arty farty, I may also sketch, or doodle alongside my words. I’m a great doodler. Keep me on the phone and I’ll have produced a whole network of patterns, lines and shaded designs, by the end of the conversation. It’s not that you’re boring me…I’ve just got to have something to do with my right hand. ♥ ♦ ♥
Yep, I’m right-handed, but, I like to try to write with my left hand sometimes. Most of the time it looks like a snail has picked up a pen and moved across the page. But, occasionally it is legible.
Going back to my precious notebooks, of course it’s important that they smell good. Sometimes I will lightly mist extra special ones, with my perfume – an added bonus I think, when I return to them for a writing session. [ Or, if the perfume goes off, a revolting stink that lasts forever.]
So, writing longhand for me allows me to give full reign to my thoughts and feelings. I connect with myself in a way that I don’t when I use a keyboard. [ And it’s always good to connect with yourself. If you connect with someone else you could find yourself in really big trouble. ]
This is not to say that what I produce on a keyboard is somehow inferior to my longhand writing. [ Although, there are times when that may be the case.] Tapping away on a keyboard speeds up the thought process. The words come quicker and for me the whole process becomes more business like. [ Shame the end result is not more business like, hey?] Perhaps it’s the association between computers and the working environment that makes me write more precisely and causes me to self-censure my work, in a way that just doesn’t happen when I’m writing longhand. Yes, this blog is self-censured…amazing hey? Imagine what it would be like if it wasn’t censured. No, on second thoughts don’t imagine that.
So, sensible writing needs to be undertaken using a keyboard. The end result…far from sensible.
That blows my little theory right out of the water then, doesn’t it?
Okay, so to recap:
- I buy notebooks to the point of obsessive behaviour.
- The house is full of notebooks.
- I can’t leave them alone.
- I have a real problem with them.
- If they’re pretty, I can’t resist.
- I need help.
- I spray them with smelly sprays.
- I write weird things in them.
- I draw weird things in them.
- If I’m talking to you on the phone I will be doodling.
- You’re not boring me.
- Well, you may be.
- I just need to doodle.
- I also write with my left hand.
- It’s a mess.
- I love it.
- If I use a keypad I think I work faster and my writing is more succinct.
- I am deluded.
- I am very badly deluded.
- I am deranged.
- No matter what I use to write with and on – it’s rubbish.
- This started off as a thoughtful piece.
- Now it has sunk to the usual mushy depths.
- Call this humorous?
- I don’t think so.
- I need my breakfast.
- And more coffee.
- What the hell am I going on about now?
- Oh dear god it’s happening again.
Next time I plan to go on and on, and rather pointlessly at that, about where I write. Yes, that’ll be good won’t it? And, what I wear when I’m writing. Oh my god no! Yes, you have been warned!
And, I feel another confession about a fantasy coming on. So, I’ll have to chase that…and so will you!
Until the next mixed up and to be quite frank, rather pointless time.