As I got out of bed yesterday morning, the phone rang. It was Katie; she'd overslept and needed a ride to work. Give me about twenty minutes, I told her.
The problem was, as I detailed in yesterday's post, I'd just had the most extraordinary dream. I wanted to write down every detail, but by the time I turned on the computer and it booted up, it would be time for me to leave.
So I pulled out a tablet I'd fortuitously brought home from work last week, and started scribbling. Three dense, ink-smeared pages later, I felt I'd gotten down the pertinent details, and could sort out the rest when I got home. It wasn't until later I really appreciated what I'd done.
I'd scribbled something down in longhand! The way I used to write so long ago, when words flowed so much easier! Later, yes, they could be cleaned up, set in cold, unforgiving print, but there's nothing like the feel of a pen scratching on paper, nothing so free, so uninhibited, so...real. This was my M.O. when I first fell in love with writing, and it had been so long since I'd done this.
Maybe I'll start carrying a notepad around with me, jotting furiously whenever inspiration strikes. I'm into my third year--!!!--at this site, and I finally feel like I'm writing again.
