[descriptions] Feb 23rd, Writing in the Living Room

February 2017

It’s my opinion that one sure way to write something not worth reading, is by moving the pen on paper before there is conviction in the heart. When I write, my pen first rests calmly, the index and thumb casually leaning against the stem. 

I look out at nothing in particular, eyes unfocused as I wander my thoughts. I then encounter what I need to say and just like that there is a strong pressure behind the gate.

I unlatch the gate and set my pen down, letting the velocity of sincere expression animate the instrument in hand. The felt tip makes a quiet rapid scratching and the scratching is every so often interrupted by a louder brush as the wrist drags across the page and I skip to the next line. 

And then moments later my pen slows and is still, and I once again look out with unfocused eyes, taking in the new terrain of where my immediately previous thought has taken me.

Two in the morning, alone in the living room, silences and convictions, scratches and brushes.