Phillip Starr discusses why the pen is mightier than the sword, especially in the hands of his old master, in a special excerpt taken from his book The Making of a Butterfly.

I'll bet I studied something in elementary school that most of you didn't (with the possible exception of the older, balding, and/or gray-haired group out there). And what might that be?

Penmanship.

Really.

Nowadays, what passes for penmanship is simply teaching the youngsters how to hold a pencil or pen and write legibly, more or less...but it was very different fifty years ago. We actually had inkwells built into the upper right-hand corners of our desks. We used pens with removable tips and they had to be dipped into the bottle of ink which sat in the inkwell. It was just about one klick up from using the old feather pens of the 18th and 19th centuries.

I clearly remember those boring classes. We were given lined paper upon which were printed thick, solid lines interspersed with thinner dotted lines. Upper-case (capital) letter had to reach the top and bottom of the solid lines while lower-case letters were to touch only the dotted lines. We'd practice drawing loops, circles, and wavy lines and although I thought I had it down pat, my teacher was never satisfied. It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, she would complain that my work was terribly sloppy. She would even check to ensure that we were holding our pens correctly; they had to be grasped just so and maintained at the proper angle at all times! She demonstrated what she meant and her circles and loops approached perfection. Since she was nearly old enough to have known Michelangelo personally, I figured she'd studied the craft under his tutelage. I did my best to imitate her beautiful looping whirls, using my paper blotter to soak up the excess ink as I completed each line of loops and waves.

Eventually, we got around to writing individual letters. They had to be correct and pleasing to the eye! We practiced doing this as a regular part of our class...for two years. If you turned in an assignment and the teacher thought your handwriting wasn't up to snuff, you'd get the opportunity to do it all over again! It didn't matter if the content was correct; if the writing looked even slightly sloppy, the paper was unacceptable.

I didn't really appreciate the many hours I spent practicing making circles and loops until I inherited my Grandmother's high school autograph book. Some of the autographs are dated as far back as 1867 and the poems which her classmates penned in the small book are truly beautiful. However, it is the handwriting itself which is really magnificent. Each one is a miniature work of art! You just don't see writing like that anymore. I suppose people thought that learning to write in such a beautiful hand required too much extra effort and the art of handwriting vanished.

The same idea applies to the learning and practice of martial arts. We used to do our best to imitate our teacher's movements although he insisted that we would eventually find our own way of doing things. Because we could not imagine such a thing, we persisted in mimicking him. The concept of imitation as a means towards finding one's own way was brought home to me one Saturday morning when I appeared early at the Chen household.

I spent most Saturdays in the home of my sifu. He and his wife had informally adopted me as their own son and I actually came to regard them as a second set of parents! I arrived earlier than usual and as I entered the house, Mei informed me that sifu Chen had gone out to buy a few groceries. She invited me to sit at the kitchen table and have a glass of orange juice while I waited. I thanked her and as I sat down I noticed that she had been writing a letter. Naturally, it was written in Chinese and she noticed my fascination with the beautiful characters she'd penned.

"You like to learn how to write Chinese?" she asked.

"Sure," I replied.

With a big smile, Mei hurried off into another room. Within a minute or less she had returned, carrying two brushes, a few sheets of typing paper, and a couple of other objects with which I was unfamiliar. She set the items on the table and picked up a black rectangular object.

"This is the ink," she said.

That's ink?

She took the other object, a flat piece of ceramic which sloped gently to form a small indentation on one end and took it to the sink. Wetting the ceramic very slightly, she returned and began rubbing the block of ink against the small flat inkstone. Within seconds, liquid ink began to form.

"This is how to make the ink," she said as she sat down beside me.

Wouldn't it be easier just to buy a bottle of ink?

Picking up the brush, she drew a single horizontal line on a sheet of paper. It was beautiful! It wasn't just a plain straight line; it had a sort of gliding quality to it. I could see where the brush had first touched the paper and where it had been lifted away.

"This means 'one,' okay? Now you try."

I picked up my brush and Mei immediately corrected my grip. I had held it as I would a pen or pencil but she informed me that such a grip was unsuitable. The brush had to be held vertically with the first three fingers resting on one side of the shaft while the thumb was placed on the opposite side. As I began to make the stroke for "one," she stopped me.

"No, no. Move the whole arm," she said.

She held my wrist so that I could not flex it back and forth as I normally did when writing in my native language. Instead, the characters were brushed by moving the entire arm as one unit. This felt very awkward to me, but I did my best.

I brushed out the character for "one" several times. Mei stopped me and held up the paper.

"Good. Now be more careful. Watch..." she said.

Holding my hand, she showed me how the tip of the brush must initially touch the paper just so. The stroke was made with the arm and then lifted from the paper in a specific manner. I admired the character I'd brushed, even though it was her hand guiding mine that had done it. We worked like this for several minutes and I heard the front door open. Sifu Chen walked into the kitchen and plopped a filled grocery bag down on the counter. He smiled as he walked over to the table.

"So! Mei is teaching you to write Chinese, huh?"

I smiled. "Yeah! This is great!" I held up the paper upon which I'd brushed "one" several times. "What do you think?"

Chen smiled and nodded. "Good, good...needs some work."

He looked at Mei and she smiled as he leaned over to gently kiss her on the cheek.

"He's very good," Mei said as she squeezed my shoulder. "Just needs some practice."

Wow! She said I was GOOD!

Chen sat down beside me. "Did Mei tell you that she won contests in Taiwan for her writing?"

"No," I said. My eyes were opened wide. They actually have contests for this stuff?

"Yes," Chen nodded. "She is famous, you know."

Mei tittered and waved away her husband's compliments. "He is jealous," she said.

"No, no," Chen replied with a big smile. "I am proud."

Mei blushed and she fairly beamed as she smiled at me. "Now try again," she said.

I was extra careful this time. I took my time as I brushed out the single horizontal stroke of the character. Mei examined it and then used her brush to make two horizontal strokes, one above the other. The top line was somewhat shorter than the bottom line and I assumed that this was the character for "two." I asked Mei if this was true and she answered with a quick nod.

"You do it," she said.

I carefully and slowly brushed out the two strokes. They didn't look at all like the characters Mei had written.

How'd she do that? Her strokes are so...beautiful and natural!

Mei grunted. "You are worrying too much," she said. "Don't think. Just do it."

I dipped my brush in the ink again and gave it another try. My second try didn't appear to be much better than the first. The lines were wavy, harsh, and abrupt. Chen patted me on the shoulder
"You are still 'thinking' about how to do it, but that's okay. Keep practicing. Try to make your writing look like Mei's."

"I am," I answered. "It just doesn't seem to be working..."

"Just like martial arts," Mei chimed in. "You copy your teacher. When you can make a perfect copy, you can find your own way."

Just like martial arts...

Mei's dark eyes sparkled as she smiled and continued. "It takes time and lots of practice. This is the meaning of kung-fu. It is like making tea; you cannot hurry."

Chen pulled out a chair and sat down. "And you do not write with only your hand and brush."

What the heck else am I supposed to use?

"It comes from here," Chen said as he patted his belly. "And here, and here," he tapped his chest and his head. "From your dantien, your heart, and your mind. When we look at someone's writing we can see his strength; his...spirit. It will show if he is weak or strong, nervous or relaxed, afraid or brave. It shows what kind of person he is inside."

"I guess I'm weak and scared," I muttered.

Mei reached over and took my paper, setting it down in front of her. As she brushed out several characters she said, "Everyone starts the same way. It is the practice that changes you. Until you change inside, you will not get much better."

I looked at the characters she'd written. Each one was a work of art in itself. I shook my head, wondering if I'd ever be able to write like that. She'd done it so quickly and effortlessly, so...naturally!

"Maybe I'd be better off just typing," I joked.

"No, no," Mei snapped quickly. "Anyone can do that but it will not change you inside. It is the practice that changes you; it is the trying that matters. You see, this is really an art. It takes a lot of practice but now people don't like to practice so much. They will find easier ways to do it and when that happens, the art will be lost. That will be very sad."

I nodded my head.

Just like martial arts...yes, it will. Very sad.

I drew the paper back in front of me. "Okay, let's try this again..."

---

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