The task of writing with a pen on paper, in my Dad’s office, about his books, on one of the yellow pads that he always has on hand is unusually calming. I notice I write slower, and more mindfully in cursive. If I make an error I can make it less obvious with the curve of the letters. I remember doing this as a reluctant writer as a kid. I knew if my writing was messy someone wouldn’t see the spelling errors as easily. When typing I can edit and rely on the functionality of the pairing down processes after. This is not a luxury with pen and paper. There’s a permanence that comes with it. I think this lends itself to how we engage with writing (pen and paper). We make decisions about permanence, audience, and intention. I’d say it feels braver writing on paper, even though we know the digital world may be more powerful, making things easier to share. Perhaps there’s a different level of ownership when you physically create letters with a pen. Maybe it’s a kind of vulnerability, as the pen acts as an extension of who we are.

I’ve never thought about this distinction before, but I am becoming more aware of the digital and non-digital spaces that I use and how the intention varies with the genre (not sure if that’s the right word … don’t get me started on my thoughts on words and word choices now…that’s a whole new rabbit hole).