On the other hand

When I was learning to write, I had a neat little system for when my hand (unused to all the complicated lettering) got tired. I'd switch to the other one. My teachers didn't notice, but I was ambidextrous until I was eight. Eventually, my mother picked up on the fact that my writing was a lot neater at some times than at others. She watched me writing, and noticed this little trait; something that hadn't seemed strange to me, and had gone unnoticed by everyone else.

My writing with my left hand was scruffy, and my writing with my right hand was neat. So my mother claims, and I suppose I should take her word for it; although as I'm mostly left-handed now (I eventually got used to all the strenuous words and settled on one hand) that seems strange.

I say 'mostly': I write, draw, and paint with my left hand. Most other endeavours - stirring a cooking pot, holding a tennis racket, lifting shopping bags - I undertake with my right.

I mention this now, because I'm starting at square one again. My boyfriend gave me a cute little calligraphy set a few months ago, and after suddenly deciding that I'm interested in typography, I've finally picked it up. But, you know, being a lefty has its disadvantages, including smudged ink and the nib being slanted in entirely the wrong direction. Oddly, I decided that the easiest way to tackle this challenge is to be right-handed for this. So I'm learning to write right from the beginning. I'm mastering an unwilling pen and a stubborn hand, and forcing them to comply, just like I did in primary school. And you know what? It's actually really exciting!