Letting go

I remember sitting at my desk years ago, alone in my college dorm room, staring at the typewriter’s unmoving keys beneath my fingers and the blank paper in front of me.

I kept wondering where the words were hiding.

I didn’t understand yet—it took years to understand— how writing works. 

How the words won’t come until I begin typing or writing, moving my hand across the page, pressing my fingers on the keypads.

Words are shy. 

They need to be coaxed out of hiding. 

They need to be teased gently into the light. 

They’ll refuse to reveal themselves until you begin moving your hand. 

Once you make that commitment and draw the first letter of the first word, writing becomes like breathing.

You take a breath, then another breath, and the next letter, the next word, will follow.

Let go of expectations.

Let go of what you think you should write.

Let the words come in whatever way they want to come. 

Remember you can always revise the words after they’ve made their way onto the page. 

Start by moving your hand. 

Allow yourself to believe in the mystery, the not knowing where the words might take you. 

Trust the words to know the path they need to take, and follow the words to wherever the path leads you.

Let yourself be surprised. 

Stand aside. (Hint: Get out of the way.)

And open yourself to whatever gifts your pen brings you. 

And you wonder at the miracle

The poems come in bursts

like gusts of wind

or a sudden rain shower

words spilling onto the page

coming from who knows where

your heart, perhaps,

or some other place

inside you

that's kept under lock and key

inaccessible 99% of the time

except on those days

when without knowing how

without understanding why

the key finds its way

into your hand and

you can unlock the box

and watch the page

beneath your pen

fill with words--

words you didn't expect

you'd ever find inside yourself

and you inhale a breath

and exhale words

and by the time

you take another breath

the wind has died down

the shower has ended

the box is locked again

and you wonder 

at the miracle

you just experienced--

the magic of poetry,

the mystery of words.

Sleight of hand

If words are reluctant to appear on the page when you sit down to write, why not try switching pens?

It's a simple trick, an easy way to encourage words (and thoughts) to keep flowing. 

You might call it an illusion, a magician's sleight of hand, but when you find yourself stuck it's a way that might help you draw new words from the mysterious source from which all words flow. 

It's what I do, switching to one of the pens that I keep ready on my desk.  

Over the years I've collected dozens of pens. I fill them with different colored inks--violet, blue, black, ama-iro, kon-peki (both different shades of blue), sepia, and more--and, depending on my mood, I select a pen with the color ink that suits my mood that morning. 

Each pen's barrel is a different size, shape, weight, and color. Some of the pens are made in Japan. Others are made in Germany, Britain, and here in the United States. Some have fine point nibs, others medium, or extra-fine. Some are sharp-edged, others rounded. 

But the pens share something in common. The moment I hold one of the pens in my hand, I feel as if I'm holding a magic wand that's filled with magic ink. And as soon as I begin writing with it, I can feel the pen weave its magic spell onto the page, helping me draw words out of silence. 

Each pen leads me down a different path into a sea of words. 

Words that heal my heart. Words that make me smile. Words that connect me to those I love. Words that help me understand the world. Words that link me to the divine source of words. Words that form stories, create poems. Words, words, words...

Some days there are so many words that I feel like I'm swimming in words. But other days, staring at a blank page, I can feel as if I'm stranded in a desert without a drop of water within reach. 

That's when switching to a different pen can help me overcome the silence, poke through the resistance, leap over reluctance, and swim past fear. 

Somehow holding a different pen in my hand can banish the dread of emptiness that I feel when I look at a blank page.

Just seeing the pens lifts my heart. 

And just holding one of the pens gives me the courage to begin, to step into the unknown, and to begin swimming. 

Each pen gives me hope that I might discover something that I've never seen before. And questions begin to bubble up: What will I learn today? What will I find that's been hidden for years? What will this pen bring to the surface?

Of course, there are no guarantees that switching pens will help words appear on the page or that a new pen will help you find what you need on the page. 

But it's always worth a try.

So when words are reluctant to appear, why not try switching to another pen... and see if it might help you discover what you need to find this morning... just as switching to another pen helped me.

Writing as an act of remembrance

Writing on some mornings 

feels like an act of remembrance 

dredging up memories 

plunging your pen down a well 

and drawing up events 

from years ago 

reaching for people long gone 

loved ones you wish you could see again 

and embrace one more time 

and who, with your pen,

you can bring back to life 

if only for a moment 

your pen scratching the page 

their images in your head 

so that you feel as if you can reach 

through the page 

to touch them again

feel held by them 

can hear their voices one more time 

before they disappear beneath the page 

your pen recording the memory

your words the only evidence 

of their presence

Finding a kind of rhythm

I find a kind of rhythm, 

even if it feels awkward, 

writing every morning, 

fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes, 

sometimes more, 

using a fountain pen 

and a journal from Otterblotter

with unlined pages 

because I prefer the open space, 

the sense of freedom that comes

with an unmarked page, 

a sense of possibilities-- 

anything can appear on 

the page at any moment!--

and even when it feels awkward

or I feel empty and don't think 

I have anything to say

I convince myself to go 

to my desk anyway

say to myself 

just sit down, open the journal, 

pick up a pen, see what happens. 

And I come to the page 

feeling like my head 

is a block of ice... 

and I hold the pen in my hand 

as if it's an ice pick... 

and it's like magic, 

how the ice begins to melt, 

how the pen is like a wand 

that can shatter the ice 

and free my thoughts, 

and here come the words 

spilling onto the page 

like a stream in spring flood.

Poems in the making

Poems in the making

forming lines word by word

watching stanzas

take shape

beneath my hand,

the process a mystery

never knowing what

will come next

writing as an exercise

in perpetual surprise.

Each day is like opening a book

Each day is like opening a book

and finding another poem

waiting for you

sunlight or clouds on the page

shadows or raindrops

the sound of the wind

the silence of snow falling

of clouds passing by

each morning a different poem

lighthearted or sad

a moody melody

a gleeful reprise

the moment you open your eyes

you can hear

the song of a new day

words filling your ears

sounds you never heard before

syllables that roll off your tongue

letters spilling onto the page

one after the other

a stream in flood

pulling you into the day

filling your lungs with air

with life, with gratitude

for whatever appears 

on the page

beneath your pen 

What you need to do

You need to arrange your life

so that being able to write

is your first priority

(and being able to read

your second).

You need to set aside time

without feeling guilty

you're not earning

a living.

You need to let yourself

enjoy writing... and not 

disparage the process

because nothing comes

of the words you 

put on paper

today.

You need to sit

and think regardless

of what others think

you should be doing,

to daydream, to follow

wherever the path

leads you.

You need to stop trying

to control the process,

to open your heart

and look inside

without flinching

or turning away.

You need to let yourself

feel whatever emotion

you need to feel, to resist

doubt, fear, uncertainty,

to ignore the voice

in your head telling 

you that you have

nothing to say,

nothing of worth

to offer,

no reason to pick up

your pen

or that you're not

smart enough

or imaginative enough

or brave enough.

You need to savor

each day, each moment,

the pen moving across the page

the ink leaving marks behind,

evidence that you are here--

living, breathing,

alive.

 

Every morning

Every morning I come into my office,

sit down at my desk, record the date and time,

and for thirty minutes, sometimes longer, 

I open my journal, select a pen, and write.

The first words, the first thoughts,

sometimes play hide-and-seek,

wanting to sleep a few more minutes

before playing on the page,

shy, perhaps, about revealing themselves,

or still sleepy, unsure if they're

ready to begin.

Once the pen touches the paper

and a spot of ink appears

beneath it on the page,

those words and those thoughts

gain courage and strength

and begin to race each other

onto the page to see who will be

the first to appear, 

flowing like a stream,

gaining momentum and force,

like a river merging with the sea.

Each word another drop of water,

the letters like sea spray

released by waves crashing

onto the shore,

rivulets forming in the sand

as the tide retreats.

You can feel your breath

ebbing and flowing

at the beginning

and end 

of each line,

leaving diamond crystals

glittering on the sand,

and shells you've never seen before

waiting to be picked up

and carried away.

Listening for a voice

You think you're listening for words, waiting for them to appear, but really you're listening for a voice, and only when you hear that voice can you hear the words.

It's a voice that whispers in your ear: "I am here. Are you ready?"

And if you're unprepared, not ready to record what you hear, you'll miss it, and the voice will fall silent again.

It's your voice and it's not your voice but all the voices you've ever heard.

And it comes not from some external source but from inside your inner ear, from some place deep within yourself that you can hear only if you're paying attention.

It sounds like the rush of waves rolling into shore or like the flapping of a bird's wings. 

It sounds like the wind blowing through trees, soughing, rustling leaves.

It sounds like rain falling gently on the roof or like the gentle echo of thunder after a flash of lightening.

Your words strike the page just like that flash of lightning.

And then the voice fades like thunder when it's done and disappears until next time.

And the only evidence of its presence are the words your pen leaves on the page.

Leaping into a new pool

Dear Wordswimmers:

You know that feeling when you're swimming in one direction and after a while you need to find a new direction to swim in?

That happened recently when I received a fountain pen from my cousin and I switched from using gel pens to writing with a fountain pen, and suddenly it was if I was swimming in a new direction and a whole new world opened up.

The switch to a fountain pen led unexpectedly to the discovery of different kinds of journals, and I discovered how different it felt to write on quality paper in new journals like the ones that I bought from one of the many Japanese companies that produce fine journals. (Midori journals are my favorite.)

Using a fountain pen and a new journal transformed the way I feel about writing in ways that I could never have imagined.

And now, with recent changes to Blogger, which is eliminating email subscriptions, I feel the need to explore a new direction yet again. 

I know it can be challenging to try something new--it takes a leap of faith, doesn't it?--but I know it also can be liberating. 

Anyway, I've decided to swim in a new direction and leap into a different pool. 

Beginning on Sunday, July 4th, I'll share my wordswimmer posts on Substack (free for readers), and we'll see what happens.

Who knows? Maybe I'll discover something about the writing process that I'd never known before. Or maybe I'll meet writers who I never would have met if I hadn't switched directions.

I'll still planning to post thoughts and musings about writing and books here, so you don't have to swim in a new direction if you find the water here to your liking. (I happen to love swimming here and wouldn't go elsewhere, except for the email changes.)

So, if you happen to find yourself, like me, wanting to swim in a new direction, you might enjoy checking out my wordswimmer newsletter on Substack, especially since it'll come as an email straight to your email inbox.

Whether you stay here or take the leap with me, I hope wherever you decide to dive in that you'll discover a new way of understanding the writing process.

Here's the link if you feel like swimming over: https://bruceblack.substack.com

I'm looking forward to seeing you in the pool (here or there) sometime soon.

Take care, and keep writing!

Bruce

Nobody's going to know my name

 Nobody's going to know my name 

years from now

whether I write these words

or let them slide off

the page into

oblivion.

What difference does it make,

really? Who am I writing for

anyway, if not for myself,

to find out what

I'm thinking in this moment

and the next?

I guess there is always

the fear of disappearing,

of vanishing from view,

of no one ever remembering

that once I was alive

and breathing and feeling

the pulse of life.

It's so strange to think

of leaving this world

without a trace of my

existence--except for

a headstone--to mark

the span of my life

on earth.

We become like dust

as the Bible says,

tiny specks of dust

that dance in the light,

ghosts of who we were,

memories of a life once lived,

forgotten,

except for the words

we leave behind.

Swimming against the current

There are some days when writing can feel like we're swimming against the current, and we have to acknowledge we aren't able to make any headway. 

It can feel like we're caught in a riptide pulling us further and further from shore, and even though we keep trying to swim toward our destination, swimming only gets harder.

And the harder we try to return to shore, the more fatigued we become... and the more impossible it is to keep swimming.  

Each stroke leaves us weaker, and each effort we make to keep writing feels more and more futile.

What are we supposed to do? 

Do we stay in the water and keep trying to swim against the current? 

Or do we try to get out?

In such a situation, the first thing we might need to do, I suspect, is to recognize that we're caught in the riptide.

And then we need to stop struggling, stop trying to swim back toward shore. 

I know it sounds counterintuitive, but on days when it feels like we're swimming against the current, we need to let go of what we want to do and allow the current to take us where it wants to take us. 

Only then, when the current begins to slack off and loses its power, can we slip out of its grip and start swimming again-- parallel to shore rather than directly toward it--until we've escaped the current's clutches entirely and can swim back towards shore unimpeded. 

It may take a while when we're swimming against the current to realize “this isn’t working,” and it takes courage to be willing to let go of what we're trying to write, to stop struggling, put down our pen, and refrain from pushing on.

But in order to keep writing, we need to figure out another route, a different path, to reach our destination. 

There is a fear in all of us, I suspect, that if we stop writing, we’ll sink to the bottom of the sea and never return to the surface again. 

Writing is what keeps us afloat, after all.

But here's the thing: when we stop writing, we don’t sink.

We keep floating, sustained by the desire to write, our love of words, our need for stories and poems.

And floating--that stage when we're still in the water but not swimming in a particular direction-- can give us the perspective we need to regain our bearings and see where we are and where we need to go.

Once we're able to stop swimming against the current, we can begin making our way towards home.

If you'd like to check out a few helpful articles on when writing is hard, visit:

https://www.well-storied.com/blog/hard-truths

https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/7-things-to-try-when-writing-is-hard/

https://writingcooperative.com/5-simple-reasons-why-writing-is-hard-really-hard-1cfee9ced1f5

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/culturally-incorrect/201804/writing-when-its-hard

https://medium.com/the-brave-writer/if-youre-having-a-hard-time-writing-maybe-this-is-why-f1802a0b86b3

What I love about writing

What I love
about writing with
a fountain pen

the moment before
I begin writing
when the pen's nib
is poised above
the page

and I can see
its shadow
curved
like a face
staring up from
the paper
wondering
what the first word,
the first letter,
will be

And how it will feel
to touch the page again,
shadow and nib
kissing the paper,
their kisses
leaving a trail
of words
behind.

--

Each morning
writing
is
like jumping
out of a
plane
and
praying
the parachute
opens...

--

I love the precision
of a fountain pen's
sharp nib

the mysterious way
ink flows onto
the paper from its
point

the clean lines
the way letters form
beneath it
on a page
that was blank
a moment
before.

--

Look -- footprints
in the snow

ink stains
on the page

smudges on glass
evidence

someone was
here.

--

The Magic of Writing with a Fountain Pen

“My two fingers on a typewriter have never connected with my brain. My hand on a pen does. A fountain pen, of course.” — Graham Greene

It may seem foolish, even a bit self-indulgent, to write about fountain pens when so many pressing issues threaten our world. 

But a fountain pen has not only helped me put aside my worries about the world for the brief time that I take each morning to write with one, it has also rekindled my pleasure in the process of writing by hand. 

The immediacy of writing with a fountain pen surprised me the moment the nib first touched the page and the ink seeped out of the pen, seeming to bleed onto the paper.

It felt like the pen was alive, a newly discovered part of my hand connecting me in some mysterious and supernatural way to my heart, and as I wrote, my hand moving across the page, it felt like the ink was coming straight from my veins.

Until a few months ago, I hadn’t used a fountain pen since high school. 

Remember how messy those fountain pens were to use back then? Often, I’d end up with more ink on my hands than on the page.

I’d write and the pen would leak and the ink would leave stains on my fingers and smudges on the pages and messy ink spots on my palms. 

For years afterward I preferred writing with ballpoint pens. I would buy cheap pens that I could throw away easily after they ran out of ink or dried up or broke in my backpack. Best of all, they didn’t drain my wallet of the little cash that was in it. 

But a few months ago my cousin wrote wanting to know if I’d ever thought about using a fountain pen. He had found one that he liked, a Pilot Metropolitan, which was supposed to be a good introductory pen at a reasonable price (under $15 at Amazon), and the thought of writing with a fountain pen intrigued me. 

I decided that I’d try one, just to find out if fountain pens were the same as I remembered or if they’d changed much since my high school days, and, after quickly searching Google, I discovered just how many fountain pens there are to choose from these days. 

There are pens made in Japan, pens made in Germany, and pens made in the United States and elsewhere. There are pens with cartridges and pens with converters, and there are so many choices for ink, more colors than in a rainbow, it seems. There are so many colors and pens, in fact, that it’s hard to keep track of them all. 

So, I started reading reviews, and I found a pen in my price range ($10) made by Pilot called Kakuno (which means “to write” in Japanese), and I ordered one, along with some extra cartridges.

After it arrived, I opened the packaging—surprised to find that the instructions were printed in Japanese—and, after figuring out how to insert the cartridge, I started writing. And … wow! 

It’s a pen, but it’s so much more than a pen!

I mean, looking at it, you’d think it’s just another writing instrument. The Kakuno shell is made of plastic, but it’s a perfect size that fits nicely in the palm of my hand, and holding it takes very little effort because it’s so light that when it’s in my hand and I'm writing, I hardly feel it unless I grip it too tightly. 

The moment I begin to write, it’s like magic: the ink flows onto the page, the blank page reaches up to embrace the pen, my hand moves effortlessly across the paper. It’s a moment of becoming, a moment of (please, excuse my enthusiasm) unexpected oneness with the universe, a zen-like immersion in the present.

It can take a while to feel comfortable using a fountain pen. But after experimenting a little with different angles and using it in different journals, I can say that writing with a fountain pen feels as natural (and effortless) as breathing. 

Why not add a little variety to your writing practice and try a fountain pen? It doesn’t have to be an expensive one. (You can find the Kakuno online for as little as $10 if you don’t mind  the color….and a plastic shell.) 

You might be surprised at how your writing—and your feelings about your writing—will change when you begin using one.

If you’re still undecided about whether to use a fountain pen, or just curious and want to read more about them and the people who find them attractive, here are a few links that you might enjoy: 

https://www.penheaven.co.uk/blog/top-5-reasons-to-use-fountain-pen/

https://blog.gouletpens.com/2018/09/6-writers-on-why-they-use-fountain-pens

https://luxipens.com/18-famous-authors-and-their-fountain-pens/

https://www.countrylife.co.uk/luxury/style/unparalleled-joy-writing-fountain-pen-five-beautiful-examples-175439

https://www.theodysseyonline.com/the-joy-of-fountain-pens

https://medium.com/@lancelotkirby/on-the-pleasures-of-writing-with-a-fountain-pen-3d95e8495550

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/26/style/fountain-pens.html