Continuing my run of entries with no pictures…I now have a new fountain pen, and ink. (For the fountain pen enthusiasts: this is a TWSBI Eco with dark purple ink and a Medium nib. So smooth.) It will help encourage me to keep up my habit of writing on a daily basis, which I’ve been doing for a couple of days now, offline. As I’ve been doing so, I’ve been reminded of the craft of writing, and how it is such a basic way of recording experience.
It’s kind of like drawing, but not. :) I wouldn’t say it’s of necessity less visual, but I get into more about the inner experience of existence and being than I can by drawing, which in my case is more like feeling surfaces rather than plumbing depths (and there I get into the tactile [as versus visual] aspect of drawing, which I hadn’t noticed before). Getting back to writing by hand is liberating, and I’m wanting to do it more. I used to fill up notebooks, especially as a teen; though then again, that was the age of IBMs and Netscape. There wasn’t as big a draw to the Web, for me, then.
It’s just so nice to be able to combine the tactile experience of writing, with the act of marking paper — surprisingly like drawing — and the experience of color and the ability to modulate how I write, how I form the words, and with whom (which pen, which ink; which are starting to have personalities, to me: helped by filling my standard Pilot Metropolitan Fine [used as my workhorse general pen right now] with blue-green ink, and my Medium Calligraphy pen with red-orange, which oddly enough coincides with basic graphic design principles).
Although a long time ago, I did start to practice calligraphy (which if nothing else, has improved my handwriting), calligraphy itself has not been an urgent draw for me. Maybe because of the cultural and historical associations with Germanic letters, and the connection of these to illuminated manuscripts and old official records. I think what I’m feeling, though, does tie in with the desire to add a decorative element to text, to ideas; to let the words blossom — to make symbols that mean things and to combine them into combinations I’ve never seen before, according to standard rules (grammar) which allow for it (or which I consciously break).
Of course, content also helps. When my writing is private, I get back to the seed of “why write?” which is missing on my blog. I mean, it’s really freeing to just write down what I’m feeling, knowing no one ever has to read it; just developing my own thoughts towards more advanced thoughts, and recording where I’m at, at any one time. There is no point to writing — for me, at least — never dealing directly with lived experience.
With me, my writing has pretty much always been intimate and personal, at least somewhat train-of-thought. I get into the “flow” state of creativity. When things are fragmented, I’m now trying to fill in the connections for you all, which are apparent to me but not necessarily to a reader who doesn’t have my experience. But there are things I would not feel open to sharing on the spur of the moment, online, without due consideration or commitment.
Words have power, that is; they have the power to change lives (for better or worse). The responsibility inherent in that is not something I’ve taken lightly, which is why, for years, I stopped writing. But the power of words to change lives is apparent, to me, from the connections I have made online in the past; people I would have never met, were it not for the Internet. And that — that is the reason that I decided to go into Digital Services, because I’ve met so many people online who have allowed me to explore my inner depths with them.
My mind and thoughts also routinely run deep — so deep that my grasp of the concepts I’m really talking about, is sometimes blurred — and it’s hard to clarify without records. With records, I can analyze things after the fact; I can have some degree of objectivity in the future toward what was entirely subjective, in the moment.
It is also…great to be able to elevate my life to a status where I can see it as something worth writing about. It’s something I don’t do to such an extent of intimacy, on this blog. I’ve remembered the reason for writing, that is.
It’s just great to be able to vent without having to actually have worked out whether it’s worth it to do so; or to acknowledge thoughts that would normally never be expressed in the course of civil life. Or to write things and then look at the words and ponder whether they’re really true, or if they’re skewed in some way. I write it; I see it; I get to ask, do I really believe that? Or, I get to start out with the self-agreement that I will write what comes to me, regardless of whether or not I know it to be true, as this will be an excellent opportunity to look back on later and gauge how, “on it,” I was at the time.
It’s been pretty great. Especially to validate real feelings I’ve had, which I know would be detrimental to social functioning, otherwise.
It’s good to be able to work things out. It’s good to be honest. And I’ll be doing more of it.