My friend Laura Brown recently asked me why I write longhand as opposed to typing on a computer. She asked me on Voxer, a resource that I am new to and, for several months, refused to use.
The reason, I think, has something to do with why I choose notebooks and pens over my iMac — I feel something too urgent when I face a computer or when I begin to speak. I believe I ought to know something and know it so solidly that it’s ready to be presented to the world. Whereas when I come to a blank piece of paper with my pen, I feel as though I am entering a story that I get to figure out. I do not need to know anything, and I have all the time in the world to play with words, thoughts, and ideas.
Writing with pen and paper has something to do with accepting myself as I am, offering whatever I have, and seeing what I can do with that offering.
I do not think I expressed this so well to Laura the day I drove home from work and talked about my reasons for writing the way I do.
The day was gray and soggy — a terrible excuse for winter — and I don’t really like to talk about writing. I prefer to write. I prefer to tell a story, and as I fumbled through a response for my friend, I looked out the car window and wondered about the mink Laura told me she saw on a walk with her father years ago. She had no plans to see the mink and, if I remember correctly, I think the walk wasn’t planned either.
But there was the mink, and there were they, and I think that’s what I mean about writing with paper and pen — I take a walk on the page, unsure of where I’m going, but hoping and anticipating for a flash of beauty along the way.
Try It
This week, write a catalog poem having to do with your writing process. A catalog poem is a list of sorts, but a word or words from the previous line are used again to create the next line. I decided to give this form a try because I like returning to an idea again and again, and finding something new to say about it. Directions and an examples can be found here. This is my attempt, which employs the catalog technique by repeating “The pen I hold,” “It is ready to,” and “a dent”:
The pen I hold is both patient and hopeful
The pen I hold is ready to make a mark, but ready to wait.
It is ready to cross out and
it is ready to doodle, write fast, write slow
The pen I hold rests nicely against the dent in my middle finger
a dent that is forever there
a dent that will never heal,
a finger that is forever marked from
the pen I hold.
Featured Poem
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s one from Amy Farley we enjoyed:
Prompted, I planned to write a poem
Organized my calendar, set apart time, gave it more than a moment’s thought
Readied to shed mom-ing, wife-ing, daughter-ing, friending if only for a time; my time
Time not shopping, grocery or otherwise
Not gaming, surfing, or tweeting
Not watching and listening to someone else’s script
Or singing along to someone else’s lyrics
Time out from obligation and laundry
I planned, it snowed.
Photo by Pedro Fernandes Creative Commons via Flickr. Post by Callie Feyen, author of Twirl: my life with stories, writing & clothes and The Teacher Diaries: Romeo and Juliet.
A Writer’s Dream Book
“Callie Feyen has such a knack for telling personal stories that transcend her own life. In my years in publishing, I’ve seen how hard that is—but she makes it seem effortless, and her book is such a pleasure. It’s funny, it’s warm, it’s enlightening. Callie writes about two of the most important things in life—books and clothes—in utterly delightful and truly moving ways. I’m impressed by how non-gimmicky and fresh her writing is. I love this book.”
—Sarah Smith, Executive Editor Prevention magazine; former Executive Editor Redbook magazine
- Poetry Prompt: Courage to Follow - July 24, 2023
- Poetry Prompt: Being a Pilgrim and a Martha Stewart Homemaker - July 10, 2023
- Poetry Prompt: Monarch Butterfly’s Wildflower - June 19, 2023
Megan Willome says
Callie, you inspired me to catalog my morning writing routine.
pencil, please
please, paper
but first
sit, please
please walk
and then
tea, please
please, poetry
finally
pencil, paper
please
Laura Brown says
Megan, I love the spareness of this, the focus on objects, and the repetition of “please,” which goes through all kinds of connotations by the end.
Rita Cromwell says
Just joined, and already love your first post.
327 days ago, my eyes fell upon a blog ‘if you can change just 1% of your day it will change your life’…amongst the other things it said, one that stood out was ‘write’ just sit and write…. anything…
and that’s what I have been doing!
And yet again I came across your website… and am inspired…. thank you I look forward with joy….
L.L. Barkat says
What an interesting statistic, Rita. I’m going to be thinking on that. 🙂
Welcome to Tweetspeak. We hope to keep inspiring you. 🙂 And, joy, yes. That’s what we reach for.
Linda Thorla says
I walk to explore
I explore by listening and looking
to the world around me
Nature all around me
the sun and the sky
so grand
Nature all around me
a new spring bud
a puddle- see the drops
so minute
I walk home to put it on paper
on paper with my favorite pen
white paper-thin lines
many, many sheets of white paper
Once ready I sit at the computer
on the computer final edits made
then printed on white paper
into my poetry notebook it goes
Katie says
Here’s a catalog poem I wrote a couple of years back:
Perusing the Spice Aisle/Hunting for Flavor
It can take a while
It can take quite a while
When you’re a newbie
When you’re a newbie cook
To find the one
To find the one you need
Yes, they are in order
Yes, they are in alphabetical order
Yet, sometimes
Yet, sometimes I don’t know
Just, which one I need
Just which one I need for. . .
the soup
the soup or the stew?
the roast
the roast or the brew?
Literacy helps in culinary pursuits
Literacy helps – and knowing your colors, too!
Katie says
draft it
draft it again and again, then
yet again and again
and then again
revise
Richard Maxson says
To Write a Poem
Some fresh and fruitful showers,
something more near though deeper,
within darkness—a widening, deepening,
greenness through living roots awaken.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests
till love exhausts itself, longs
for the sleep of words.
Till love gives in and speaks
in the whisper of art.
Till love is all in the mind,
where it daubs at the gray shape
to enter its own house.
***
CENTO sources: Sir Philip Sidney, Seamus Heaney, Ted Hughes, Carol Ann Duffy, Jane Kenyon