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Long before smartphones, laptops, computers, typewriters, there were pencils to scribble with and ink pens to dip into bottles and ink wells.
And faced with a blank sheet of paper and contemplating the bottomless well of a blank brain he might have resorted to chewing the end of the dipping pen or pencil. Impossible now, of course.
His grown-up children had long exhorted him to write up his memories of childhood in exotic places when the world was young, before they were born. But what he couldn’t settle down to, what had eluded him so far, was the voice to use.
Should he write in plain, matter of fact language or go all poetical to bring colour to his anecdotes? Should the narrative be chronological or thematic? Should he constantly allude to faulty memory or merely reconstruct history? And should he employ the first person or third person mode?
His fingers hovered over the keys. It was time for decisions. Where was that pencil when he needed it?
Penmanship is a dying art, I love writing and more so in cursive format. So what I do is to write down my things to do for the day in my diary, in cursive of course instead of doing the same in the computer. And I am getting my kids to start writing in cursive as well. I miss the days when we all wrote letters and an opportunity to show our skill in penmanship.
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Thanks for commenting, and I do agree with you, though I do take heart when I see our youngest grandson writing stories in cursive at school — for pleasure. His father though, who was diagnosed dyslexic far too late, still writes everything in capitals.
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