The Death of Handwritten

Quitting my creative writing class was a really difficult decision for me.  I'd like to think I don't quit easily on things, particularly when school is involved.  But I had a few days before the withdrawal deadline and I believed that I had gleaned the most beneficial portions of the class.  I had photocopied the pages required in the syllabus and returned the textbook before the return deadline at the beginning of the semester (now that's how you do college for cheap, kids!)  I had finished the poetry section and the fiction section, and the rest of the semester held only essays and discussions.

I had been phoning in the homework for a while, literally copying and pasting from the blog at times when I needed material in a pinch.  Somewhere along the line I realized that my writing class was keeping me from really writing.

I haven't written here in far too long.  I've missed this, my sanctuary of words and thoughts.  My class required daily entries into a handwritten journal of sorts to keep us writing everyday.  But leaving my keyboard and my ability to more readily self-edit for the pencil smudgery that is handwriting for lefties felt like - well, like camping; sure I could do it and make it just fine, but why settle for a sleeping bag when you own the softy down of a queen mattress?  A cheap composition notebook just doesn't suit me or my purposes.  And typing is comfier, sue me.

My classmates were all there for different reasons and I was the only one from my academic background and the only non-English Major.  I felt out of place surrounded by people who thought in words and turns of phrases and screenplays.  I'm a storyteller, but in that class I felt distracted from that goal.  I'm sure many would, have and will find the exercises prescribed in that class and others like it useful, and I did gain some occasional insight at times.  But I was looking for an intensive focus to build upon the skill set I had rather than an exploration of different genres and styles.  I've found what styles work for me and what don't.  If I went to a music store to buy a piano they wouldn't make me learn trumpet first.  I can find what I'm looking for elsewhere.

I've looked back on my earliest posts and tried to rediscover the fire that got me writing to begin with. The purpose of this blog is more than just a more detailed series of facebook statuses.  There's more to this than mere therapeutic journaling, I think.  This is the memorial of our early years as a couple.  This is where I come to pen our struggles, our anxieties, and our triumphs.  This is where we immortalize our flaws, the ones we try to grow out of over time. 

These posts and pages are where our friends, family and readers can look back with us and marvel at how we made it through.  I don't know what I'll write next, I never have.  There is no plan.  If something is noteworthy, I note it.

This is our notebook.


S