In a world of immediate digital gratification, paper seems to be pushing back. My social media feeds are peppered with ads for notebooks, fountain pens, and personalized embossing tools. I confess to having purchased from these ads and being delighted with each item I’ve received. I know I’m not alone because countless customers extoll the virtues of these products and the tactile joy they bring.
Engineers are aware that a purely digital experience lacks connection. There are certain sensory qualities from the old mechanical times that modern device-makers seek to mimic. This trend persists even as many who use their products are not old enough to have used the device that inspired its modern counterpart. Digital cameras, for example, still make a shutter noise when the photo is taken although there is no shutter. Keyboards offer a satisfying amount of resistance and make clicking noises that harken back to pressing mechanical keys to launch a type bar at the page. On some primal level, humans like to know that something has actually happened.
(The house lights dim and a spotlight at stage right illuminates door number 6.)
December 6, 2024
Writing is a luxurious endeavor, yet we’re never taught that. Instead, we’re led to believe it’s a tortured process that requires copious amounts of whiskey and a penchant for nicotine. That scene is well accompanied by the hectic tapping of a keyboard. Thoughts must flow with immediate effect else one risks the derision of that blinking, vertical line. I realize it’s meant to be one of those helpful bits of feedback, a placeholder, but if anxiety has a muse, her name is Cursor.
Fortunately for me, I have a way to thwart that particular muse. It’s called paper. Nothing blinks. Its surface is matte and forgiving to the eyes. Writing by hand has the added benefit of a built-in delay. My brain sends the whole word to my hand and tells it how to form it. The slower process of forming the word gives my brain more time to come up with the next word. I can even edit before my pen nib touches down again. The illusion of speed proffered by my laptop is counterbalanced by the extra time I spend editing. It takes me the same amount of time to write regardless of the method. I submit, however, that writing by hand is much more enjoyable.
Case in point: the haiku I wrote below. It was inspired by the very notebook in which I wrote it. The notebook is a gift from a friend who supports my writing habit and shares my enthusiasm for paper and ink. I wrote this poem in one go. I wrote slowly and deliberately. My brain was able to calculate the number of syllables and choose the words I required all while my fine point, rollerball pen glided over the paper. It felt effortless. It was joyful. I don’t write everything in longhand first, but if it’s poetry, rest assured there’s an original, in my own hand, on the page of a notebook.
To give you the feeling of opening the notebook to read my haiku, I’ve used a sliding photo gallery. I won’t deny that technology is marvelous. I am tickled that there’s a digital way to mimic opening a book. I am not a luddite. I am a modern writer who hopes that by blending the old with the new I can share my stream of consciousness in a manner that is appealing and entertaining.
Since Thalia is an ancient Greek Muse, she’s still taking in the wonders of our digital age. So, for once, it is I who gets to whisper in her ear and see her eyes light up. She thinks the slider is da bomb. She’s ancient, not out of touch.
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