The Way We Get Ideas onto the Written Page
I don’t know if the medium is the message as Marshall McLuhan so famously declared, but it certainly changes the way the message is composed. I learned cursive in fifth and sixth grade. My handwriting was and is almost unintelligible by anyone but myself. My teachers complained.
During the summer between elementary school and junior high I took typing lessons. At first I wrote longhand and then transcribed onto an old Remington manual typewriter. Later, I switched to a manual Smith Corona, and in college to an electric Smith Corona. In those days I always wrote longhand and revised with interlinear notes and circled passages with arrows showing where to move a sentence or paragraph. But I found I could never compose straight onto the typed page. The loud clack of the typewriter interuptured my thoughts.
It was a tedious process and anytime I made a major revision, removed or added a paragraph, I had to retype the entire manuscript from that point forward. When I finally transcribed onto the typewriter I would use a carbon copy so I’d have two copies. If I made a mistake I used white out and typed over it, and as the technology improved a new type of paper and a typewriter ribbon, half black, half white, we’re developed that allowed you to lift off a letter from the page when you did a strike-over, which did nothing to correct the carbon copy.
I wrote a novel, short stories, wine articles and teleplays in this way. It was a time-consuming process. In the late 70s and early 80s I was writing wine reviews and feature articles for Vintage magazine, and Wine & Spirits Buying Guide, and any typed pages I turned in were then sent to the printer and had to be transcribed into the printer layout.
Then along came the personal computer. In 1982 I bought a suitcase-sized Osborn computer with a 5 inch black-and-white screen, and 5 ¼ inch floppy disks that could hold 64 KB, enough for several articles. All of a sudden I could write three times faster. Corrections could be made instantly without having to retype pages, and I could make as many copies as I wanted. Furthermore, these computers were almost silent. No longer was noise a distraction and I could compose straight to the screen. The word processors even checked my spelling and grammar, and a dictionary and thesaurus were only a click away. Later, with the advent of the Internet I could fact check on the fly.
I’ve owned more then a dozen computers. For the past decade I’ve used various MacBook Pro laptops. Yet for all their advantages computers have always had a major drawback for me. I’ve been lucky enough to live by the ocean for most of my life. In the late 70s I enjoyed writing on my deck while listening to the waves roll in. But laptop screens aren’t bright enough to see outdoors.
I thought this problem would be rectified with the advent of the Kindle Ereader and Eink a decade ago. However no manufacturer has stepped forward to offer a simple word processor with Eink technology. So I remain confined to working indoors, when I’d rather be on the deck or at the beach.
Today’s computers offer beautiful graphics. I appreciate it every time I click on a YouTube video, or sort through photographs, or read an article supported by sharp, colorful graphics. However, all this gadgetry comes at a price. I’m a champion procrastinator, and my little writing machine is now an entertainment center. It comes with access to the news, Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, Pinterest, movie reviews, book reviews, webcams, music, games, reminders of appointments, and bills to pay. I can’t tell you how often I’m distracted by the stuff behind the curtain. In a lull between paragraphs I’m likely to say to myself, “Now I’ll just check to see if so-and-so has responded to my email.” An hour later I might get to work, or decide it’s time to take a snack break. The Internet is a bottomless well. It’s easy to spend your day mindlessly web surfing.
I’ve been stuck at about the two thirds mark in writing my new book, Seal Cove. Part of it is caused by the distractions available on the same machine I use to write. Part of it, I suspect, is the posture required to type on the keyboard on my lap. I imagine one composes differently if standing, like Hemingway did, or sitting rigidly at a desk, or lounging in an easy chair, or in bed. It’s said that Dickens composed in his head while walking late at night.
So until someone invents an Eink word processor, I’m going to try an experiment. I’m going to compose longhand and dictate into my laptop (Steinbeck dictated the first chapter of Cannery). But direct dictation is another skill and might take some getting used to.
My hope is that composing without online distractions will move this book along. In the meantime, dear reader, my apologies for the delay.
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