When I was at school, I was quite proud of my cursive hand with its requite swirls and flourishes. Many hours were spent trying to replicate the elaborate script that, in white on green, spanned the front of the classroom wall just below the ceiling.
But times, and life moved on and I found myself a teacher in the UK, where my adorned writing caused confusion among my students. “Sir, why does your ‘n’ look like a ‘m’ and your ‘m’ have three bumps and not two? Yes, I had inadvertently wandered into the realm of “joined writing,” in which cursive was seen as archaic and unnecessary.
But tides and time wait for no man, and even “joined writing” became something to forget. If a student could master a keyboard, why spend time with the mastery of a pen? To touch type was the new scribal talent.
I have often heard students moan “my arm is breaking,” if they needed to hand-write more than a few lines of text. Primary teachers speak of students who hold pencils gripped in closed fists, rather than between index and thumb.
How far have we journeyed? Where will it lead? Will writing in the future even be a thing we need?
Today’s prompt: Write a piece of prose or poetry around the words cursive, touch, and forget