A curious thing happened yesterday. Though I prefer composing in longhand, my writing is rapid and not always in the best of penmanship. Yesterday, however, while making notes and drafting an essay, I found myself writing with extreme care. I wrote slowly and with far more pressure on the pen than I normally find comfortable. Amazingly legible! This curious event carried over into this morning’s work. Methodical, carefully formed letters, but this time printed! I don’t think I’ve printed anything since school.
I’ve spent most of today trying to understand where this thing came from. It can’t be the pain in my thumb or the necessity of keeping it straight. No matter the condition of my arthritic hands, I’m still writing rapid cursive that I must sometimes decipher with care. I doubt it’s the fact that I’m reading A History of Writing (an academic and sometimes difficult book). I’m stumped.
I’ve been composing a lot on the keyboard lately. I don’t discount my neglect of the need to feel the pen and paper connecting. Could it be I am merely feeding this addiction? If not that, the only other possibility that comes to mind is that I might be experiencing a renewal of the reverence I feel for the writing process, including the mechanics and physical sensations of inscribing words on paper.
Late this afternoon, I was still writing slowly, though with less care than yesterday. It appears this strange phenomenon might be fading. I am aware that my thought process during this time has been very thoughtful and introspective. Might be an interesting technique to try on purpose later on.
I’m sure I’ll scratch my head for a few days more, hoping for a satisfactory explanation. There must be one, right?
*Author’s note: A full 72 hours before the phenomenon faded.