Capturing Images on Paper

I do it a lot, not always for work. The kind I enjoy the most are my short shorts or these posts or (when I can stay focused long enough) my novel.

I have put my novel to the side because my attention span is that of a gnat. Ok, maybe a little longer, like the length of a short short (my friends call them poems (debatable in my opinion)). On a good day I can make it through a post without stopping, but a novel? Not hardly.

The day dreams of my alter ego taking on a life of her own have been drowned out by health problems (i.e., short attention span) to medication to fix said health issues (i.e., no creative thoughts) to well, life in general.

It’s not like I don’t want to finish my novel. I’m proud and happy that I am writing. Posts and short shorts are a really good thing; I just need to figure out how to transition that process back to my novel.

I love the written word. It can be beautiful and lyrical. Putting Pen to Paper is becoming a lost art.

English: Draft letter of 1669 from Sir Robert ...

English: Draft letter of 1669 from Sir Robert Long to Sir George Downing, instructing that Downing pay Sir Denny Ashburnham 6 pounds interest on 200 pounds lent. Signed by Long. Hand written. 86 mm x 240 mm. Courtesy of the British Museum, London. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It is through pen and paper that I can craft my feelings for my characters. Unlike the spoke word, I can take my time to find the right words, the right set of words to convey exactly what I feel, what my thoughts are — the meaning of all of it.

Writers will always be, but pen to paper writers are almost obsolete. I love technology and the way I can easily move thoughts around and quickly reconstruct my imagination, but somehow, the art of the imagination is less shiny.

Pen and paper make it crisp and eloquent — like a good paperback book on a chilly day in front of a roaring fireplace. The weight of a good fountain pen between finger tips. The way the pen glides softly against the crisp lined paper. The whiteness disappearing beneath solid black lines forming letters. The letters wrap around the sentences and images rise to the surface.

The crafting seems much more intimate when the brain moves the hand to stroke the words on paper, sliding from left to right rhythmically. A dance of the internal illusion to form a picture for the world.

It is easier to carry a pen and notebook to cafes or restaurants or docks by the lake. It is not dependent on power or lack thereof. The only requirement is ink in the pen and a blank page. Details seem more crisp and come layered with complexity when you have one chance to get it right.

The satisfaction of your fingers — hand — hurting after a while makes it seem more accomplished — something achieved at the end of the day. Like a good hard bike ride that leaves you out of breath and slightly sore (but in that good sore way).

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