Have you ever noticed just how positively therapeutic it can be to type out your thoughts? I used to write in a journal periodically, trying to convince myself that I loved writing, but it just never worked out. I’d get this really grand idea and decide to write it out immediately, but my hand laces slower than my mind races, and it became a very frustrating “outlet”. The times when I could write fast enough to get my extravagance on paper, my handwriting would be so sloppy I wouldn’t want to share my thoughts – yes I know this is petty, but come on, who can take your excellent musings seriously when your handwriting looks like a 3rd graders cursive practice? My dislike for the lengthy process it took to write overpowered my desire to write in the first place.
When I was 16 my desire to write turned into a bitter need. My friend died, and I couldn’t cope with her death. It was sudden and unexpected. My whole world crashed, and for a long time I just shut down. That year I was given a leather journal for Christmas. I dubbed it. “Dear Lena” and started writing letters to my dead friend. I wrote to her whenever I wanted to remember her, or whenever something exciting happened. I wrote to her when I was upset, or when she needed an update on the lives of those she left behind. I wrote poems and thoughts, heartaches and ideas. Sometimes I just wrote to her about nothing at all, making it seem like we were having a pointless conversation like we use to. Writing to her helped me heal, and even though that was almost 7 years ago, I still write to her periodically.
After my heart healed more, I stopped writing so much. As I’ve gotten older I’ve noticed there’s a lot more “big kid stuff” to think on, and that sometimes writing down my frustrations or questions helped me develop more into the kind of woman I want to be. This, however, is hard to accomplish now that I’m an adult with a job and a (growing) family. I’ve found that typing gives me the same experience of therapy and an odd peaceful feeling. There’s a certain mixture of knowing and not-knowing that comes from typing out even the most simplistic thoughts, and even the most profound opinions. Typing long and hard, frustrated key-strokes when I’m upset allows me to unravel without being unraveled. The soft, romantic notions of typing out a story of a love I thought I once had allows me to understand the emotions I had as a seventeen year old girl. Typing just comes so much more easily to me than the long strokes of writing. I like it better, and I know it may be a generational gap – but typing for me just makes way more sense.
I’ve always wanted to invest in a type writer. They’re terribly romantic, and just so seemly that I know it would be beneficial to have one. I understand the type-o’s might very well drive me insane, but oh to use a type writer and allow myself to become undone…
Perhaps some day!
Do you have a preference to typing or writing? If you do, what are your reasons and have you tried the other option? Have you ever used a type writer? Did it make a difference in your style of writing?