I'm a southpaw. One of my favorite parts of writing physically is ink smeared and smudged on the side of my hand. I used to hate it, but now I see myself as a chef with a dirty apron or an artist with a stained smock... wearing a mark of creation.
I write glacially. My hand tires and cramps easily, especially compared to most people's my age. When I was a child, I was taught typing as early as possible due to my snail-scratch; even typing a mere 47 words a minute was quicker and more legible than the alternative. It might be my disability to blame.
Most of my compositions now take place on a tablet, but I often plant the seeds of ideas in a stenobook. Something takes place in your brain when you compose on paper... something that you cannot replicate on a keyboard. I don't ponder whether or not I lose part of my creativity when I switch to electronics because, without them, I wouldn't write nearly as often or as much.
Do you still write letters by hand? People say it went out of style with email; the death knell was the invention of DMs. There are things that email just cannot replicate for me. I send holiday cards for more holidays than I should. I scribble long, sprawling letters to people who don't trust "delete". All government correspondence comes to me through the post office.
There are weeks I work with nothing but emails, DMs, and the Word application. My pens, in a beautiful array of shades and points, sit untouched in drawers and cups. My journals, too pretty to be marred by half-formed ideas, have intact spines and uncreased pages. But I come back to the ink and looping cursive. I always do.