Sunday, June 3, 2012

I am a writer.

By nature, I like words: the shape and feel of the letters, the sharp contrast of dark ink against paper. The sounds they make as one reads them internally, the pauses and little nuances of sentences, of paragraphs that add a certain type of flavor. But in particular, I love writing in pen on plain, good old paper. There's a particular beauty to it that is very hard to reproduce, I think because of the combination of the sensation of pen dragging across that sort-of-rough surface, the slight spread of ink that comes with a halfway decent pen, the subtle scent that comes along with freshly out of the package leaf.

Many will agree there is no way that writing on a computer screen can compare to the traditional beauty of handwriting. But, alas, here I am.

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