The Benefits of Messy Handwriting

When I talk to school groups, I sometimes show pages from my notebooks, or bits and pieces of paper where I've jotted down story ideas. And in doing so, I often make the point that neat handwriting is a very good thing. Because sometimes - quite often, really - when I come later to read what it is that I've written down, I find that I can't, that the idea I remember as being so very brilliant is in fact a meaningless series of squiggles. Or I get to the shops and discover I can't decipher half the items on my list.

But sometimes things work the other way. Sometimes having terrible handwriting leads, accidentally, to all sorts of surprising connections. In poetry workshops, I'm always talking about making words jostle up against words they wouldn't normally hang around with. And sometimes this is what happens when I try to make sense of my own writing.


Sometimes thick black marker on the fridge admonishes me to **EAT THE YEARS!!!!**

Sometimes a note in my diary reminds me to "Copy the past into my notebook".

Sometimes a scrap of paper long buried on my desk tells me "Dogs should have electric cots and vests - VERY IMPORTANT"


Sometimes this is how poems and ideas begin to grow. And for all my Book Week warnings about the importance of good penmanship, I have to admit that this is how I like it.

What Do Ducks Eat?

So I'm writing these duck books. Because I love ducks. But it seems that with duck-love comes responsibility. It seems that if you love a duck, you must not feed it Belgian chocolates. My eagle-eyed editor reads my manuscript and informs me that chocolates are not good for ducks and can actually be fatal. This is not good for my story-duck, Max, who is very fond of them. And whose fondness for said chocolates is very important to the story.

When my editor tells me of this unfortunate fact, I take a moment to pause. I say "Damn you, facts! Why must you always get in the way of a good story?"

Then I take another moment to pause again.

Because my editor tells me it is a Google search which has given her this information. And as much as I love Google, I am wary of relying on it as a research tool. So I climb aboard my high-horse, with my duck sitting side saddle in front of me, and tell my editor I'm going to look into this 'more deeply' before I make any drastic changes.

But I am pressed for time. And I hate talking on the phone. And I don't know any duck experts.

What can I do?

I use Google. Of course. Only 'more deeply' and with additional Google-fu.

This is what I tell myself.

What does Google tell me?

It tells me that chocolate is not good for ducks. It tells me so in many, many pages.

I do what any deep researcher would do. I decide to try a different search string, one which will perhaps yield me more convenient accurate results. I type in "What do ducks eat?"

And lo! The page of my dreams, it appears before me, or at least a summary of it, in my search results. It appears like this:

What do Ducks eat? ... low-fat chocolate milk .. orange juice... white bread ... Bowl of grape jelly ... large bowl of dill pickle spears ...Peanut butter

At last!, I think. I have found a kindred spirit. I have found someone who does not mollycoddle the ducks of this world. I have found proof that ducks can enjoy all kinds of weird and wonderful things if they are only given the chance.

Then, because I am researching 'more deeply' and with maximum Google-fu, I decide to click on the page itself. And I discover this:

Recently at University Catering on the University of Oregon campus in Eugene, the crew has been forced on short notice to prepare for the Oregon Ducks football team a daily late-night buffet spread for their team meetings. With all the items being cold, the kitchen crew is not required to stick around to fire any hot items, though students must be scheduled to deliver the cold smorgasbord to the opposite side of campus every night for a 9:30 pm start. So the question remains to be asked -- What do Ducks eat?

Then I beat my head against the desk, Dobby-style, and call the wildlife sanctuary. "What do ducks eat?" I ask them. "Not the Oregon Ducks, but actual, you know, living ducks. That quack. Can they, perhaps, enjoy the occasional Belgian chocolate?"

"Oh dear," they say. "Oh dear, no. You must never feed chocolate to a duck. What are you thinking?"

"I am thinking," I say, "that I have some re-writing to do."