I still have a thing for pencils, you know the one with the short stumpy head that some of you are dying to sharpened to your pointy perfection. Pens are essential as well, the feel of a black ink pen does wonders to a clean slate. However, the lead of a pencil connects in a way with my creative juices that pales in comparison to an ink stain or a sturdy keyboard. Pencils excite me now the same way they did in kindergarten. I stopped collecting pencils with different patterns, words and colour when my niece and little sister spied my stash. At the beginning, I did not want to share when I saw empty spaces in my special cup. Yet, over time, I understood the power of a pencil and I could not deny my role in encouraging writing.
Pencil time means writing time, it tells me go ahead just write what you think and feel in your journal. It urges me to write unedited, meaning I say it how it is, knowing that no one would see those words. Yes, I do write that way when I use a keyboard but when I edit the grammatical errors and tame the tough lines, the word changes. My pencils and my notepads act as my colouring book when I cross out minute old thoughts without using an eraser. It is a deliberate act which makes my heart content. My journal accepts my words as they are, no protest ever. It is the sketch pad for jotting down the first draft of a journal article. My pencils and my notepad/journal welcomes my poems covered with quotes and doodles in the margins.
My pencil and I have a good thing going on but I do appreciate the keyboard era. Now I just need a way to copy and paste from my notes to my screen.
Story inspired from Daily Prompt: Pens and Pencils