I prefer to compose by hand because it’s cathartic and also allows me to think. There’s something serene about this natural action. And tranquility is quintessential to me.
Imagine, if you will, that you are mid-sentence and immersed in creating your work. You’ve dropped into that creator’s zone that excludes everything except your composition. Even the minute scratching of the pen across the paper as you write is part of the action, part of the calming balm.
And your pen’s ink fades to transparent within half a word. What an annoyance; ink still remains though. It’s right there! But the irriation is fleeting. You’re still in the zone. You employ your next pen. Oh, that one dried up, too. And onto the third pen. By now, you vagurly wonder if the ink will flow continuously if “dead” is imminent. So, you become faintly aware of the wider world again. And there goes the zone.