Okay, so yesterday I found myself with some time to kill, and I happen to have this novel what needs writin’, so I sits myself down in Starbucks with a double tall soy latte, my beautiful 5-subject notebook and lovely pen – and figured I’d get happy for an hour.
I mean write. That’s what “get happy” means to us writerly type folk. Sheesh – gutter, people!
Anyway, I’m plugging along, feeling quite happy about the Penman Shipwreck, and very happy about Ether. Thoughts fly by my brainly parts about how glad I am to be writing with pen and paper again, and how I must be sure to thank Pete again for nudging me back on this path. I’m thrilled to learn I do still have enough stamina to plug out several pages in a sitting, and using Aspercreme, can manage more that evening. I’ve fallen back in love with leather-bound journals and the idea of jotting down story notes, ideas, even stick-figure representations, maps and such. I feel once again as if I’m delving into my worlds, not just skimming over them in a hovercraft or something.
And, I must say with no small lack of humilty, I’m thinking to myself that my penmanship isn’t all that bad. I get to the top of a page, and while my hand is feeling good and my ink is flowing, I’m even entertaining thoughts that my hand writing is pretty damn good. It’s certainly legible. It’s precise, bold, spaced enough to be easily read. “Yes, by God, I’m going great” I suggest to myself with glee.
About an hour later, with Starbucks having grown way too noisy and annoying for me, I pack up the notebook – back into my handy dandy and much loved Barnes & Nobel book bag – put the pen away in the little pocket, grab my keys and head off home. There, I get comfortable on the couch, open up that notebook to take a quick glance over my beautifully written words, and find – this:
The fuck is that! And who wrote it! Gah!
Luckily for me, I have a Masters in Gibberish, and can transcribe these lines in the evening hours.
8 thoughts on “scratch only a chicken could love”
Honestly, I don’t think it’s that bad, but I’ve had to decipher much, much worse on a regular basis at one point, so my rambling sentence from reading your’s over Castle Debacle just keeps getting long and may need to be taken with a grain of salt.
“Flipping open the notebook brought another flood of memories, mixing with the smell of old papers and worn leather.”
Hey, no problem. Now I think I need to post a scan of my journals.
Yeah, it didn’t seem to shabby to me either. I mean, it’s not Jane Austen handwriting, but so what? It’s readable, it’s workable, and if it’s comfortable, good enough.
I shouldn’t have told you lot about using the aspercreme lotion, that was my secret Penman Shipwreck weapon. Caaarses.
BwaHahaha! It’s a miracle cream, lemme tell ya !
It is! I never liked regular Aspercreme, but the lotion actually smells pretty decent, and if you plan properly when you use it, it works like a charm.
When I remember to apply it BEFORE I start writing, it’s perfect. I’d never used it before, but now I can see how much it really helps, and I carry it around with me in my book bag, right next to my Penman Shipwreck notebook 😀
You two sound like a couple of arthritic old farts.
I never use Aspercreme on my hands. Makes them all greasy and stains the paper.
You only need to put it on the back of your hand, your thumb – that meaty part – and your wrist.
And who you callin’ a Fart?!