The last time I wrote something long and twisted on actual paper was a struggle to remember …I was trying to restart a journal and pulled out one that had only a few pages filled up. Then there is a note book that has notes of research and remnants of ideas for a story. Both were a few years ago and while the notebook sits here on my desk, I haven’t read it or added to it since. The journal is back on the shelf. I can’t even claim its waiting for more.
Most of my notes and thoughts are jotted on the notes section of my phone or list of jagged thoughts on a word document or said to someone on social media (shortened to fit comment sections, photo ops or twitters). Most of my words are short lived of good ideas and vague remembrances of lost ideas. I spend a lot of time touching, sorting and thinking about other people’s paper.
Letters to my Grandmother are typed out – I’ve given up on having decent readable handwriting. Grocery store lists are sometimes jotted on scraps of paper but most often left behind. Its been ages and ages since any book has driven me to take notes of needed questions or discussion points.
I wander through this idea of my own paper nostalgically but not wistfully ..I have no secret desire to get back to long hand legal pad bad scribbling. Yet, I do wonder if my brain would be better off with words on paper. Everything else I adore and admire comes from the actual paper …*as she glances longingly at the notebook with great American novel idea inside …….