Tag Archives: handwritten

Workshop Wednesday

In my attempt to get into the groove of many things, I’m going back to my writing workshop roots. Thus, this post was written by hand (see picture) and transcribed to make it internet-friendly. To get started, I chose a random word (“shoes”) and started writing the first memory that corresponded to that particular word. As I anticipated yesterday, there’s something about channeling memory and having it travel through your brain, and out of your fingers via pen and paper that makes you feel a little raw and vulnerable and truthful.

My dad has these shoes he bought in Italy. In Rome or Florence. I can’t remember which. I know when he’s wearing them even before I see his feet because, they click. Against floors. It’s a light, little click, click. It reminds me of an older, well-dressed Italian man, waling across a piazza after his morning espresso. Caffeinated, he clicks (click, click, click) in a determined way. The clicks come so quickly, you think maybe he’s angry. But the reality is, he’s just a Type A man. Unlike the older Italian man, however, my American father of Dutch ancestry is not well-dressed. He believe navy blue tee shirts match with old, beat up & faded, black shorts. I think I understand his reasoning, two Dark colors. Like and like. But when he slips on his light brown leather Italian loafers with the wooden heel that click, clicks, he kind of pulls it off. It’s the determination of the clicks; the suaveness of his alter ego … his Italian soles.

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Blocked

Writing every day isn’t easy. I never seem to have a hard time doing it for money or deadlines, but when it’s for me, it’s easy to get blocked. Last summer I took a writing workshop that cleared my mind of the mental torments associated with writing. The “you’re never good enough”s and “that sentence is super awkward, are you going to leave it there?” were finally silenced. It was an amazing experience to feel free and able to let my mind and words fall in sync while my brain operated between that plane and a daydream-like state. The problem is, a year later, it’s hard to duplicate this feeling. Not impossible. It just takes longer. A lot longer. It’s almost as if a yearly tune up workshop is required.

Since I can’t go back to the course, I’m going to try something we were required to do there: write on paper. For the next few days, I’m going to handwrite my posts. Then, I’ll either scan or transcribe them (depending on if I can get my scanner to work or not). There’s something to be said about writing on paper vs. computer. It’s harder to delete what you don’t like on paper. It’s more permanent. Editing is also different as well. You choose your words more carefully when you first start. Then, slowly, you begin to lose your inhibitions — sort of like a newbie at a nudist colony — and let it all hang out. I’m curious to see how this will go. Looking back at my writing from the workshop, everything on paper tended to be more personal, which seems to be a side effect of the physical act of writing. I wonder where it will take me this time.