Why I'm Writing My Book By Hand
Hello, MsBrowns family, and welcome back to the AllAboutBooks corner of the site!
It’s NotesOnDawn here, checking in on my big, ambitious, and slightly terrifying 70-day writing challenge. As I mentioned in my first post, the goal is to finally get this short story collection, which has been living in my head and in various chaotic documents since 2022, into a shape that resembles a finished draught.
Today’s post comes to you from Day 69/70.
Now, before you congratulate me on being almost done, I must clarify! This is a countdown. I am on Day Two of my 70-day challenge. Yesterday was Day 70, the big kick-off. Today, Day 69, is about settling in. The vibe for this challenge is very much candlelight, autumn leaves, and quiet focus (hence the 🕯️🍂 in my Instagram post). It’s less of a frantic sprint, more of a purposeful, mindful walk.
And "mindful" is the perfect word for what I want to talk about today. Because today’s post isn't about word counts or plot-hole-fixing. It’s about the tool I’m using to get this project over the line.
It’s not a new laptop. It’s not a fancy piece of software. It’s a pen. And a notebook.
That’s it. For the last two years, I have been slowly, almost instinctively, returning to writing by hand. And I have to tell you, the difference it makes in the long-term development of a story, in its texture and its depth, is distinctive.
The quality is just... better. It feels more "me." And on this 70-day journey, I’ve realised that how I write is just as important as what I write.
The Tyranny of the Blinking Cursor
For years, I was a typist. Like most of us, I was trained to be. From university essays to my 9-to-5 job, my entire life is lived on a keyboard. It’s fast, it’s efficient, it’s clean, and you can delete your mistakes so no one ever knows they existed.
When I started writing creatively, I naturally brought that same energy to my laptop. I’d open a fresh Word document, type "CHAPTER 1," and then stare, terrified, at the vast, empty white screen and the impatient, blinking cursor.
The laptop, I’ve learned, is an environment of intense pressure. It demands order. It demands progress. It demands that Scene 1 is followed by Scene 2. My brain, however, does not work that way.
The laptop encourages what I’ve been trying to escape: the "word vomit." Because typing is so fast, it’s easy to just dump everything out. My brain dumps are very visible and, as I noted on my Instagram, incredibly jarring. The screen is a public-facing, professional space. Even in a private document, it feels like it should be polished. And when my writing is in its messy, embryonic stage, seeing it all laid out in a neat, 12-point font makes it feel... well, wrong. It’s jarring to see a half-formed, terrible sentence look so 'official'. It invites the inner editor to the party far too early, and my inner editor is a ruthless critic who shuts the whole thing down.
The Freedom of the Non-Linear Page
My creative process is, to put it mildly, chaotic. I write completely non-chronologically. For my short story collection, I might get a vivid image of the final scene—the emotional climax—before I even know the main character’s name. I might get a single line of dialogue that feels important, but I have no idea who says it or why.
On a laptop, this process is a nightmare. I’d have a document with "OPENING SCENE" (empty), "MIDDLE BIT???" (empty), and then a fully written "ENDING." It looks broken. It feels like a failure. The temptation to "fix" it, to force the story into a linear shape it’s not ready for, is overwhelming.
But in a notebook? It’s completely natural.
A notebook is a private, non-linear, 3D space. It's mine. I can flip to a completely random page and start writing. On one page, I can write the ending of "Story A." On the very next page, I can scribble down a character sketch for "Story B." There is no pressure for them to connect. There is no blinking cursor judging my lack of progress.
This process allows me to have so much more freedom. I’m not just writing a story; I’m dating it. I’m getting to know it. I can switch between stories, following the thread of creative energy wherever it wants to go, rather than forcing it down a pre-determined path. The notebook allows me to capture the feel of the story, its atmosphere, and its emotional core, without worrying about the scaffolding.
The Magic of "Oh, That's Where I Was Going!"
One of the most joyful parts of this analogue process, which I mentioned in my post, is the element of rediscovery.
A notebook is a time capsule. It doesn’t have a "Find" function. You can’t just hit "Ctrl+F" and find that idea you had three months ago. You have to physically flip through the pages. And in doing so, you stumble across old entries, old versions of yourself.
It’s hilarious, and often illuminating. I’ll be flipping through, looking for a blank page, and my eye will catch a frantic entry from last February for a story I haven't returned to in a while. I’ll read it and just go—"Oh! I was taking it in that direction??"
Sometimes, it’s a genuinely brilliant idea I’d completely forgotten. Sometimes, it’s a terrible one, and I’m grateful I let it sit. But either way, the notebook becomes a collaborative partner, a record of my own mind. It’s like finding a message in a bottle from my past self. That's a kind of magic you simply do not get from a neatly organised file system.
Why This Analogue Method Actually Works:
As this is MsBrowns and we are "AllAboutBooks" (and the writing of them!), I wanted to dig into why this feels so different. My experience is that this is a better way to write. But what does the expertise say? I did a little research, and it turns out this instinct is backed by cognitive science.
1. It Slows Down the Brain (In a Good Way) Typing is fast. For most of us, it’s as fast, or faster, than we can think. This encourages a stream-of-consciousness, "transcription" style of writing (the "word vomit"!).
Writing by hand is deliberately, beautifully slow.
The physical act of forming each letter, the "graphomotor" skill, forces a different, deeper cognitive loop. My hand is slower than my brain, which gives my thoughts time to form more fully before they hit the page. This "friction" (the pen dragging on the paper) is a feature, not a bug. It forces me to process the information, to choose my words more carefully. As researchers from Princeton and UCLA found, students who take notes longhand remember and understand concepts better than those who type. They’re not just transcribing; they’re processing. That's the "distinctive quality" I was talking about.
2. It Activates a Different Part of the Brain When you write by hand, your brain lights up in ways typing simply doesn't. The combination of motor-skill, sensory feedback (feeling the paper, seeing the ink), and memory recall is a full-brain workout. Studies show it increases brain connectivity.
For me, this translates to feeling the story more. The act is tactile. It's physical. I am making something with my hands, not just inputting data. This connects me to my #slowliving goals. In a world of digital immediacy, the analogue act of writing is a small rebellion. It grounds me, making the writing "peaceful and familiar," as I described my Friday morning.
3. It Fosters Non-Linear, Creative Thinking This is the big one for me. A Word document is a "scroll." It’s linear by design. A notebook is a "space."
I can draw arrows. I can doodle in the margins. I can turn the book upside-down and write a note. I can tape in a picture that inspires a scene. This is how brains, especially creative ones, actually work—not in a straight line, but in a web of connections. The blank page is a playground, not a holding cell. It gives me permission to be messy, to explore, and to let the ideas connect organically.
Day Two: A Few Core Scenes
So, back to the challenge. This morning, on Day 69/70, I had a truly "peaceful and familiar" Friday morning session.
There was no glaring blue light from a screen. No distracting notifications popping up. Just me, my notebook, a cup of tea, and the quiet of the morning.
Because I felt no pressure to "write the whole thing," I was able to just sink into the world I’m building. I wasn’t worried about chapter order or word count. I was just... writing. And I managed to get a few core scenes down. The important scenes. The ones that carry the emotional weight of the story.
They are messy. They are out of order. They are written in my terrible scrawl.
And they are honest.
This is the "measured and honest" writing I’ve been craving. This is the only way I can balance the creative life I want with the 9-to-5 life I have. This 70-day challenge isn't just about the 2025 deadline; it's about building a sustainable, gentle, and truthful process that I can carry with me long after these 70 days are over.
So, I’d love to know from our wonderful MsBrowns community—how do you write? Are you a dedicated typist, or have you, like me, found your way back to the pen? Let me know in the comments!
Until next time, NotesOnDawn