Writing by hand

I write by hand. Not always. But usually. And when I do, it’s better.

Students are often surprised to hear this. Teachers, too. I can type faster than I can write, and that’s precisely why I choose to write. My drafts are better when they come out a little slower. Journals are portable. They don’t have to be charged. They never act wonky. They don’t have the internet begging me to send an email or check the weather or whatever else the internet tells me to do. Journals are silent. They are blank. They wait to be filled. They are lighter than a laptop, and easy to stick in my purse or fit on my lap at a swim meet or parent assembly or the like. They don’t come built in with excuses for not writing. They come blank, staring at me like I better get a move on and start filling them up.

I like writing by hand.

Even before I was writing as a job, I did a lot of writing. Journaling, list-making, doodling…I’ve always liked the feel of a pen in my hand. And it’s given me a permanent scar. Can you see the indention on the inside corner of the tip of my middle finger? It’s where my pencil or pen presses and has pressed for decades. It’s shaped my bones and my muscles and my very hand.




One day maybe some future archaeologist will find my skeleton and say: This woman was a writer.