Words and Wisps: Observations on Writing
A way to make the ephemeral more enduring.
When I started this newsletter, I sought to create more of what I wanted to see and read. To put into the world, what only I can. To evoke the feeling of a stroll through the mind over a scroll through a feed. So last night I pulled out my sketchbook and began writing, returning myself to what brought me to page.
I’ve always kept a collection of words and wisps: fleeting thoughts scribbled on scrap paper, photographs snapped in passing, mood boards filled with collage cut-outs, my own methods of thinking through ink. But these were kept tucked away in dusty archives. This morning, I began assembling it all: scanning, piecing together, nudging pixels on my keyboard. There were a few moments as I glanced up at the clock that I wasn’t sure if I could make this happen. But then I forgot about posting schedules and email etiquette and before I knew it, everything was ready.
In addition to my occasional letter, starting today at the end of each month, I'll be sharing a collection of handwritten musings and personal photography gathered throughout the previous weeks. This series is evolving and experimental in nature and I welcome your thoughts as you read along.
Question
What do you know to be beautiful and true about the world and your place in it?
Gathering Words and Wisps
It started with a desire to return to what brought me to the page. To gather the words and wisps by hand, to keep at hand. Sentences to get lost in before supper. Strolling through the mind over scrolling through a feed. Callous cross-outs, ink blots, palm pressure on the pages, and blemishes so bespoke they leave traces of the person holding the pen. A way to make the ephemeral more enduring. Searching for those good writing days, where everything else falls into place.
Writing Advice
Everything I have learned about writing comes down to this: Place your hand around a pen or over a keyboard and keep it there.
Afternoon Artifacts
An assortment of afternoon artifacts salvaged from the broken, abandoned, and sentimental.
Peach Popsicles
A peach slice suspended in its own juice from concentrate and pried out of a plastic popsicle mould. Translucent, tempered, and frozen numb. In the afternoon heat, amber thaws into ambrosia by the millisecond. Jagged shards of ice melt tangy on the tongue. The pitter patter of feet and an arm outstretched just in time to let a trickle of syrup pool into the kitchen sink.
Sitting Still on a Moving Planet
Realizing that writing has always been and will always be, about sitting still on a moving planet and putting into the world, what only you can. Everything you've experienced is now yours to tell. Even the ordinary becomes your ordinary. Learn to enjoy the confusion of it all.