writing

The pen paused, making a circular blot which grew and grew, until it was a story in itself. Then suddenly, the nib took off, scratching across the page, a furious scribble. There was ink on the fingers too. Then the girl stopped, lifted the pen off, and looked thoughtfully at the scrawl. When she touched it to the page again, her handwriting had changed, and neat blue marks appeared out of nowhere that followed the rules of lines, and margins and page-after-page. Only the thoughts were not orderly anymore- in her crawling hurry, they all came out higgledy-piggledy, too much of this and too little of that, and the wrong order to things.
She stopped after a laboured page, and looked at it. Beautiful, clean. Neat, clear marks in sapphire blue, all down the page. Then she read it. Then she tore it up.