writing is a strange art. used to be, you picked up a pen or a pencil and poised it over a sheet of paper, thought for a bit, and began to form words slowly by hand as they came to you. thoughts passing through brain to a million tiny muscles, carefully and painstakingly, becoming a physical thing that could be read as you held it in your hand. those thoughts could be mailed to someone far away. those thoughts, on paper, could be burned, or tucked away in a drawer, or used as evidence when necessary.
now. this present day. by the blue light of a screen, our fingers fly across the keyboard, transcribing thoughts so quickly that we barely process them in real time. too quickly. not carefully. no pains are taken to find just the right word, just the finest turn of phrase, the adjectives and adverbs carefully chosen and set down in ink.
i'm sad that the days of pen and ink and paper are gone. handwriting is such a personal thing- it reveals personality and mood. but now- nobody can even read cursive unless you're over 50. sigh.
bring back the days of calligraphy and linen paper and long curving capitals and flourishes of signature. please, bring back those days.
