Telling and Tending Stories.

An open book filled with messy handwriting sits on a table. A pen rests on top.

On Process

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I am a fast typist with atrocious handwriting. I’ve always had a practice of sporadically—no pressure—keeping a journal, which has diminished in frequency steadily since my adolescence.

I also, until I went full time and therefore full GCal, used to keep a paper planner.

I also, when I was directing for my bread and butter, used to take rehearsal notes longhand. I can still hear Sean’s delighted giggles every time I got stuck on my own handwriting and couldn’t decipher a note.

For my application to arthaus, they asked that we write our statement of interest longhand. Skeptical, first, that they could read my handwriting, and second, that I could possibly write with any of my usual snappy wit and pithy turns of phrase, I first typed the statement.

Once I had my thoughts nipped and tucked, I wrote the statement longhand—not from the screen, not a copy—I just wrote it again.

I typed it up and sent both to my eternal editor, my mom; I didn’t tell her which was which.

Like I had, she discerned a drastic difference, less in content than in tone. She also knew immediately which was which. To my huge surprise, we both readily agreed that Statement B—the handwritten one—was the one to send

So I think I’ll write some of these out by hand before I share them. I wonder if you’ll be able to spot the difference?

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