Thank you so much — that truly means a lot to hear. Handwriting is a wonderful, slow living practice, and putting pen to paper makes thoughts feel more honest and alive. I’m really glad that resonated with you <3
This was so gorgeous & relateability sunk into me like the ink stained bump on the ring finger of my right hand that I bore from childhood till my late teens when I started tapping away on a beloved, gifted typewriter. Somehow my favourite way to spill become on my MacBook, easier to clean up. But this article has if anything inspired me to crack a notebook once more. Thank you 🙏🏽🤍
your writing is beautiful and reading this gave me SO. MUCH. JOY!!!! love the sketches and paintings you've included and the photos of your journal, they give the essay an even more personal touch 🥹
Thanks for sharing that — that means a lot. I'm sure your grandmother was a special lady and loved you very, very much. It’s funny because, until I started writing, I had no idea the essay was going to orbit around the moon and my grandmother. Sometimes you have to put pen to paper before you can untangle what’s really sitting in your heart. I didn’t fully connect the dots until afterward. My grandmother was the heart and soul of my world, and I think traces of her live in more corners of my life than I even realize. Thank you again, and I’m so glad you liked the moon painting! I completely forgot I even had that one tucked away and had to go digging for it while writing this essay. Thanks so much for reading <3
writing is one of the best ways to navigate grief! i’ve definitely turned to it in the past year more than ever. i’m happy we could connect over this and thank you for your kind words :)
The image of kicking an old soda can down the road for years until it becomes a constant companion is so strange and so true, like the pen is the can and the act of writing is the kick that keeps releasing ideas stuck to the sidewalk. Your ending, where you realize the moon was always there and your grandmother is always looking down whenever you sit to write, feels like a quiet benediction, as if the act of writing by hand is a way of keeping both the moon and the dead alive in the same motion.
I shouldn't fixate on this part of your very enjoyable piece, but I hate the Yankees. That said, I love hating the Yankees, so I don't know what I would do without them. The Mets are another story. I love the Mets, but sometimes I wish they didn't exist. Something about your handwriting looks like mine, I think, or what mine used to look like. Mine has gotten worse with atrophy because I have fully embraced the keyboard. I like to edit too much and too quickly. On the other hand, I still spin records and am nostalgic for the New York City in which you had to dodge dogshit everywhere you went. I just went to my 40th college reunion this past weekend, and wrote about it, and I think I'm finally starting to accept (it's my third reunion) that places change. I don't like it, but I accept that change is the only real constant. Everything I can remember still exists in my mind. Maybe even if I don't remember.
Excellent way of writing an article, illustrating the importance of hand writing even today
Thank you so much — that truly means a lot to hear. Handwriting is a wonderful, slow living practice, and putting pen to paper makes thoughts feel more honest and alive. I’m really glad that resonated with you <3
This is so beautifully written ! I enjoyed every bit of it. You really brought your childhood and the neighborhood of Highland Park to life.
This was so gorgeous & relateability sunk into me like the ink stained bump on the ring finger of my right hand that I bore from childhood till my late teens when I started tapping away on a beloved, gifted typewriter. Somehow my favourite way to spill become on my MacBook, easier to clean up. But this article has if anything inspired me to crack a notebook once more. Thank you 🙏🏽🤍
It has to be by hand
Really enjoyed it! Also love the handwriting samples
your writing is beautiful and reading this gave me SO. MUCH. JOY!!!! love the sketches and paintings you've included and the photos of your journal, they give the essay an even more personal touch 🥹
I love my wee notebook! Brilliant piece!
as someone who lost their grandma a year ago & talks to the moon, i loved this piece <3 and your moon painting from 2021 is beautiful
Thanks for sharing that — that means a lot. I'm sure your grandmother was a special lady and loved you very, very much. It’s funny because, until I started writing, I had no idea the essay was going to orbit around the moon and my grandmother. Sometimes you have to put pen to paper before you can untangle what’s really sitting in your heart. I didn’t fully connect the dots until afterward. My grandmother was the heart and soul of my world, and I think traces of her live in more corners of my life than I even realize. Thank you again, and I’m so glad you liked the moon painting! I completely forgot I even had that one tucked away and had to go digging for it while writing this essay. Thanks so much for reading <3
writing is one of the best ways to navigate grief! i’ve definitely turned to it in the past year more than ever. i’m happy we could connect over this and thank you for your kind words :)
The image of kicking an old soda can down the road for years until it becomes a constant companion is so strange and so true, like the pen is the can and the act of writing is the kick that keeps releasing ideas stuck to the sidewalk. Your ending, where you realize the moon was always there and your grandmother is always looking down whenever you sit to write, feels like a quiet benediction, as if the act of writing by hand is a way of keeping both the moon and the dead alive in the same motion.
I shouldn't fixate on this part of your very enjoyable piece, but I hate the Yankees. That said, I love hating the Yankees, so I don't know what I would do without them. The Mets are another story. I love the Mets, but sometimes I wish they didn't exist. Something about your handwriting looks like mine, I think, or what mine used to look like. Mine has gotten worse with atrophy because I have fully embraced the keyboard. I like to edit too much and too quickly. On the other hand, I still spin records and am nostalgic for the New York City in which you had to dodge dogshit everywhere you went. I just went to my 40th college reunion this past weekend, and wrote about it, and I think I'm finally starting to accept (it's my third reunion) that places change. I don't like it, but I accept that change is the only real constant. Everything I can remember still exists in my mind. Maybe even if I don't remember.