Catching Idle Butterflies

Batteries not included

I have a problem.

For a while now.

Years really.

It started innocently enough, as most addictions do. You see it for the first time, and you have to have it. Then you use it all up, and have to have more. And more. When someone finally notices, well, how easy it is to come up with reasons to justify this addiction, that it's not really an addiction, but a passion or a simple desire you must feed from time to time. Many times, you even succeed in making them think you don’t have a problem. But you still hide that fact deep inside whatever dark and hidden nooks and crannies in the house you can find.

I admit it here, because I know you will understand.

I have . . . a paper fetish.

I love paper. Lined paper, colored paper, printed paper, it doesn’t matter. I love the feel of it in my hands, how it whispers at me when I fold it, sighs or crinkles when I write on it.

But it doesn’t end there. I gotta have the perfect pen to write on this loverly paper. I’ve tried many, and I do have my favorites. Right now it’s a Pentel RSVP. But I also love colors. The RSVP comes in black, blue, red, even sunburst metallic greens, blues, pinks, reds . . . do I need to go on?

Though I admit my problem, I won’t give it up. I can’t.

There’s something about paper and the perfect pen and writing by hand that grounds me. It brings me closer to my subject, my characters, the world I create within the act of writing.

Typing it in a word processor sometimes leaves me cold, because it’s not my handwriting I see, but a computer created font that leaves out the personal and uniqueness of my words. Much of my mental state can be seen in my handwriting a word processor can never emulate or duplicate.

I don’t stop my fetish with just paper and pens, but with journals. I have five so far, and every time I walk through a bookstore or office supply store, I have to stop and finger all the types and sizes of journals available.

I like the permanence of my deepest thoughts, emotions and dreams a journal provides. Before I began my blog, I wrote in this little 3" x 4" purple suede journal. Each day I used a different colored pen, because then I could see each separate day without having to read the date at the top. The colors also reflect my mood at the time.

I haven’t written by hand in a while, because using the computer is more convenient. I don’t have to worry about misspellings, incorrect sentence structure, or convoluted and confused thoughts made permanent on the pages and having to scratch them out.

However, I did begin the third chapter of my scifi anthology contribution in a spiral notebook, and once again, I found myself grounded.

Plus, the other advantages to writing by hand is I don’t have to worry about power outages, crashing hard drives, or the batteries on my laptop going dead without warning.

Short of an overly curious puppy (I know that's redundant), a house fire or the garbage can, paper can last for forever, or at least for many hundreds of years if treated properly.

I would like to start journaling on paper again. When I began journaling in high school, I more often than not felt God sitting right next to me and reading every word. I miss that.

Typing them into my blog afterwards is not that big of a problem. I have to do that with my stories sometimes anyway, and I do type relatively fast. Besides, that I have to work more to get my words to come to life and feel closer to God is a small price to pay indeed.