Time to put pen to paper?

It seemed like the natural follow-on from my last piece ‘on reading’; to extol the virtues of writing by hand. Though I imagine many will find it quaint, I will admit here that I now value the Italic handwriting lessons thrust upon me at junior school. At the time, the exercise seemed archaic (all homework written in italics), unrewarding and ultimately pointless. It’s heartening then to read subsequent research highlighting that the act of handwriting is fundamentally developmental, both aiding our ability to recall what we write, but also in exercising the parts of our brain that ultimately benefit other entirely distinct areas of development. Amusingly, the greatest value from my italic years is my card and note writing prowess, which never fails to impress; perhaps I’ll invest in a proper pen again so I can really show off my hard-earned and perhaps even admirable calligraphy skills.

On reflection, I’ve found myself leaning towards writing about the act of writing in general, whether tapped out on a keyboard, or written by hand. All the research and articles I found seemed to be very focused on measurable productivity. How much more we can remember, how much faster we can recall, and in general, how handwriting helps us achieve more. It struck me that the value in writing goes far beyond this. Of course productivity is important, but life is about more than simply getting things done.

Some articles talked about handwriting aiding learning, which seems closer to the mark than simply recalling more, faster, yet I think there’s a higher order of value still. There’s something in the process of writing, or perhaps more specifically editing, which talks to repetition and refinement. First, we think and potentially converse and think some more, then we write our thoughts down, read them, refine them, write a little more, refine and discuss, then refine and write until we’re satisfied. To that end then, it seems that writing is humanity’s most structured physical manifestation of reflection. The act of writing things down gradually reveals new depths of thought, and in so doing, cultivates in us a new awareness. This feels big to me. Bigger than simply recalling faster, though undoubtedly far harder to measure.

writing is humanity’s most structured physical manifestation of reflection.

Interestingly, it loops back around to learning, or perhaps Developing, with a capital ‘D’, because all it takes to improve at almost anything, is the process of becoming more aware of your performance, and writing offers that in spades. If readers become leaders, (as I frequently tell my boys, though at present this appears to fall on deaf ears) what do writers become? Teachers? Perhaps simply great leaders. Writing is the other side of the reading coin, and to truly make the most of one, you have to do the other.

There is, however, hopefully a higher order of value here still. One of helping others develop too. When we write, we learn, but if writing is the physical manifestation of reflection, perhaps we do more than learn. Perhaps we grow, and when we share our writing, maybe the world grows with us, maybe just a little bit if we’re lucky. This brings me back to my marginalia. The act of having a conversation with the writer by dropping comments into the margins of the book you’re reading, all makes for a richer and more developmental reading experience. However, you wouldn’t have anyone else read those comments, because they haven’t been refined. They’re ugly and embarrassing, or at least, mine are. In order to share our writing, we have to edit and refine so that others can stand the best chance of gaining something from it, rather than stumbling over our clumsy, ill-chosen words. To that end then, lovely as the pen is, even a shiny calligraphy pen with a wide gold nib, it’s no match for editing on screen (though as I write this, I can feel the beginnings of a bit of a headache, which I probably wouldn’t have if I was writing with pen and paper and not staring at a screen). Clearly then, if you’re hopeful that your words might go on to help others, the humble pen and paper falls short.

if you’re hopeful that your words might go on to help others, the humble pen and paper falls short

So, why do I write? And when do I write with a pen? I write my journal by hand because it’s more reflective and intuitive. I print and write my thoughts on the articles I read because it’s more memorable (if a little scrappy at times), and finally I write my daily tasks by hand simply because no one else needs to see them and it’s faster, as recent research clearly demonstrates. In doing so, I’m forced to take care and write down only what matters most; selfishly, what matters most to me. The complex haptic response I experience from writing by hand, and the boundaries offered through a lack of freedom to edit and refine, drive me to encode in my mind the things that really matter to me, far more powerfully than if I’d tapped on some keys (or worse, copied and pasted), to be recalled, with any luck, as and when required.

But why do I write these thought pieces? This whole ‘G & Biscuits’ thing is, I’m afraid, wholly selfish - it’s about my development. I bet you thought I was doing this for you, didn’t you. Well, that would certainly be a nice fringe benefit. If this leads you to reflect, and perhaps even grow, then that is a beautiful thing, (and selfishly rewarding for me) but one thing I’m guaranteed of is that my own thinking will develop if I continue to write, every fortnight like clockwork, all the while reading deeply to support the words I write. As an executive team coach offering to help groups to think better together, I clearly need to be refining my own thinking skills, consistently, week after week. So, it’s all about me, but if you’ve taken something from this, and perhaps been inspired in some way, then that’s fabulous and heart-warming. Indeed, I hope you have, and if you have, why not write about it and share your thoughts with the world.