What I know about writing

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I can still remember the handwriting test we took in Primary School.  The one in pencil.  The teacher looked carefully at my capital B and spoke encouraging words of a job well done.  She settled a star upon the page but she didn’t give me a pen.

I watched everyone else take up their books.  They all got pens.

I was not a brave child.  I did not like approaching adults.  My father once made my sister return a broken toy at the Cheltenham markets to teach her a lesson in bravery.  She still talks about it now with the hurt of small child.

Yet I wanted my damn pen.

I found my voice and I got that pen but I sometimes feel like I haven’t quite graduated from a pencil.  I see pens everywhere and their beauty is often crippling.

I write with a pencil every day.  I push messy thoughts through a fine sieve and try to find some clarity.  I learn things.  I edit.  I reconcile things.  I edit.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

Writing is revealing, it’s purifying and it’s educating.  It’s finding your own voice and it’s sometimes asking for that damn pen.

This post is part of a fortnightly link-up ‘What I know about’  over at That Space in Between.  Follow That Space in Between on Facebook for the next prompt.