Writing

The last few entries were first written with pencil and paper as I was sitting up in bed, and then uploaded onto the blog the next day, with the typing also serving as an editing process. I started to do this because I was too tired and lazy to fire up the computer after having spent 8 hours working on another computer.

One night, L asked me what I was doing. He shook his head after I explained. Only, me, he said, adding that he couldn't write without a keyboard. Only me apparently also meant using wooden pencils -- the type you have to sharpen -- and fountain pens -- the type you have to fill with ink.

I can't write properly with a ball-point, it feels scratchy and makes my handwriting deteriorate. I like the feel of pencil lead on paper, the glide of ink from a fountain pen onto paper, a sort of "proper writing" feeling. And I enjoy the process of unscrewing a bottle of ink, dismantling the bits of a fountain pen to fill it. And when I sharpen a pencil, the smell of the shavings hint at more to follow, like how when you peel an orange, the whift of zest is a preliminary indication of more intense pleasures to follow. Call it writing foreplay.

Typing on a keyboard is fast and efficient, there's no denying that. But writing on paper means that I have to organise my thoughts before I set them down. There is no quick cut and paste option. And it makes me think twice about spelling and not get lazy with the spellcheck underlining my suspect spellings. And if I make a mistake, I just have to cross things out and rewrite that bit again. Having to put in that little extra bit effort makes writing feel more of a craft.

I've just realised, as I cross out bits here and add bits there, that I've forgotten most of the proofreading symbols I used to know. All that's dead. Like hot metal press. And Latin.

And one day, possibly pencils and fountain pens. God forbid.