writing

Another resolution.

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In August 2010, I launched this blog because I just enjoy putting words on a page and I needed a creative outlet to prevent my brain turning to mush. Plus, I like telling you ridiculous stories, sharing a memory or a recipe or writing to work out how I feel about something.

I promised in the beginning that it wouldn’t be interesting or even thought-provoking, but I hope I haven’t bored you to tears. I mean, my parents don’t even read this blog, and I’m the only kid they’ve got. So I appreciate the three of you who do read it. More than I can say.

On my recent resolutions for 2011 list, I neglected to add “Write more” since I don’t want to put any undue pressure on myself. I write a blog entry when I feel like it or when I have something to say. But I don’t want to have to write something, and I’m sure you don’t want to read that anyway. Keep reading »

An ode to penmanship.

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While perusing Twitter today, I found a really interesting article about the importance of writing by hand. That’s kind of ironic considering a) I read the story online and b) I’m talking about it by typing into my blog. Oops. The gist of the article is that writing by hand develops cognitive skills, so all of our typing and texting may be endangering kids’ intelligence. Isn’t that scary?

I am totally reliant on email and texting now, but I didn’t start using email until my freshman year of college, when we were required by my English professor to sign up for the school email accounts. Back then, email was this little, blank DOS screen with a black blinking cursor. Even so, I used it to keep up with all of my friends who went to other schools. I even met people on an early listserv who are still friends today. (Then I was an early adopter; now I have become old and skeptical of emerging technologies.)

A couple of years out of school, when I was sitting in front of email/Internet at work all day, I started to think about how little I wrote anything to anyone by hand. I mean, I keep and treasure every scrap of mail I’ve ever received from my loved ones. If you sent me a Christmas card in 1998, I probably still have it. So, I can go back and read the letters and cards that my grandparents sent to me or the (hilarious) letters I sent to my mom while I was at camp. A printout of an email or online card, no matter the sentimentality, just isn’t the same. Keep reading »

To all the dogs I’ve loved before.

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I really do mean canines.

(Though there’s only been one, so far.)

Last week at lunch I was reminiscing with my dad about my first dog, a beagle named Missy who a) bit me on the foot, b) ate my dad’s last Snickers candy bar (he’s still not over it) and c) ran away, never to be seen again, as soon as we arrived at my grandparents’ farm. I don’t think any of us were too upset. Keep reading »

An anniversary.

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Nine years today. Gosh. That’s almost a full decade! And even so, I don’t think I’ve fully processed that day, how it changed the city and our whole country, the world. But I won’t go on and on about it. You know.

I took a writing seminar this summer on memoir. I’ve always liked family stories, and I haven’t taken a true writing class since I was 12. I thought it would push me but also give me some structure on how to put personal stories together into some sort of narrative. In class, our moderator would read a poem or story and ask us to choose a phrase from it that spoke to us. Then we’d have 10 minutes to write, in longhand, without stopping. She stressed the not stopping – even if you had to write, “This is stupid and I have nothing to say and I can’t think of anything and I hate this class,” etc. for the full time. She assured us that eventually the exercise would take us somewhere surprising.

Indeed.

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