A Lost Art

Anna Quindlen’s latest book, Write for Your Life, is a paean to the lost art of personal writing. After the “democratization” of writing, says Quindlen, “Writing was a kind of handshake or embrace: Hello, I see you, I want to know and understand you. I want to understand myself.”

During COVID, many people I know wrote about their experiences. Shut in, alone, they tried to make sense of senseless deaths and to understand themselves. It was certainly a time for introspection and reflection. However, I have no idea if they wrote by hand or on a device. I took an online course, “Writing Your COVID Memoir.” Everything I wrote, I wrote on my computer.

However, I do keep three handwritten notebooks. One is for my novel. I write questions I want to pursue, advice from my writing teacher, and stray words/descriptions I come across that I think will be useful. Yesterday I wrote the word “chignon.” It will be a great addition to the way I have been describing my protagonist’s hair. (Note: I am writing the actual novel entirely on my computer.)

Another is a “commonplace book” where I keep quotes that interest or inspire me. Many of them find their way into this blog. In some ways, this functions as a journal, because it records what I thought was important at the time.

The third is for my daily Haikus. I try to store these online. My handwriting is so bad I can’t decipher what I’ve written when I go to revise them, but I write the original by hand each day – and text them to a friend.

I can’t say why these notebooks are handwritten. Maybe it’s because to me “personal” still means handwritten. It feels more natural to reach for pen and paper than to log on and type. It’s also more time consuming, and therefore feels more intentional and more thoughtful.

Whatever the reason, my writing life is a combination of the old and the new.