I read a story the other day about a woman who wrote novels.
She always wrote her first drafts in pencil because she loved the
feel and sound of the pencil lead being scratched across the page.
I laughed to myself as I thought of how smudged up her pages must be,
at least if written in a typical journal like mine with facing pages.
On further reflection, however, wouldn’t a pencil be apt?
Life isn’t sterile and perfect.
It can get quite smudgey.
We rarely, if ever, get things totally right the first time ’round.
We have erasures, edits, and rewrites all our lives–nothing is perfect.
Writing with this old-fashioned pencil with its wooden smell and
sensuous feel of the the tip scratching across the page,
at least makes the journey tactilely fun.
It makes it so much fun, in fact,
I don’t want to end this poem.
I won’t hold you hostage with my pencil
© D. Elaine Wood-Lane