I don’t need to share my writing.

There’s something about writing, something special, almost sacred. I have to say that I’ve gone back-and-forth between typing as writing, and picking up a pen and paper, and the pen always triumphs over the keyboard.

There’s something magical about physically writing things down, and I also find that I remember more if I write it down as opposed to setting a reminder or note in my phone. I’m not sure if its the feeling of the strokes of the pen on paper that ignites that “spark” in my brain, but I know that once I start writing, it’s like my hands know exactly what they’re doing, because, as I write, I don’t stop until I feel that there’s nothing left to say on the matter.

I’ve also come to realize that much of the writer’s block I’ve experienced is simply due to the fact that I’m staring at a blank screen on my laptop with a blinking cursor indicating that nothing has been typed. I don’t know if it’s subconscious, but the blinking almost makes me feel as though I’m running out of time, as if there’s a time limit to my writing; like any second, the blinking of the cursor will increase in speed before it explodes. At least, when I utilize paper and pen, there’s no lights, nothing blinking at me, telling me to hurry up—it’s just me, my pen, and my thoughts.

My physical writing really picked up when I was gifted a gorgeous fountain pen for my birthday earlier this year (Thanks Bryant and Jasmine!). I love the weight of it, the flow of the ink, ad the small intricacies that make this pen stand out from the other ones I’ve used. I firmly believe now that physical writing is best, and most beautifully done when you can look at your utensils and feel joy. That may sound materialistic of me, but you know what? I don’t care. I’ve enjoyed writing more than I ever have with this pen, and I plan on utilizing this pen for all of my writings and works for a very, very long time.

Moving on from the tools and utensils, I also want to touch on writing in general. Here’s the thing: Humans have been writing, carving, painting for a very long time. Throughout history, there have always been new writing systems and styles, and I don’t ever see that changing.

I mean, even now we have “new” writing systems. We can read emojis and understand the context—or subtext—of what the image means. Certain memes contain entire emotions that a whole generation of humans can understand; no words needed. I’ve said it before that emojis and memes are essentially the hieroglyphics of the modern era, and I think many people, especially around my age, would incline to agree with that statement.

Here’s the issue I have with them though, and you may have already guessed at what I’m about to say—they’re digital, and, as I’ve talked about before, even though I run my blog through the digital realm, digital files don’t hold any weight.

As permanent as the internet may feel in our lives, it most certainly is not. Cloudflare went down briefly earlier this year, and if you’re not aware, they run a lot of internet services, many of which are tied to many of the websites and apps that many of us use regularly. So when it went down, all of the sites tied to it became unusable for awhile, at least until they figured out what was wrong and fixed it.

However, this just goes to show how impermanent all of this digital space is. What if it goes down again, but there’s no fixing it next time? I don’t think that’s an unrealistic thought to have. If it goes down, and there’s no bringing it back, what do you have left? If everything you have—art, writing, photography, exists purely in a digital space that could cease to function, without warning, what are you left with?

I would continue writing if my blog’s website suddenly went down because I thoroughly enjoy writing. I choose to share this writing with everyone, purely because I want to, not because I need to. I need to write, but I don’t need to share it. That may sound like an old-school way of thinking, but that’s genuinely how I feel.

If the digital realm is temporary, then we must accept that our digital lives are temporary, but physical, tangible items? They don’t have updates or flaws in the code that would render them unusable. They just work, and will continue to work long after the internet dies.