I have often pondered as to why I am unable to write what I thought of directly onto the computer (like what I’m doing right now with this entry!). Indeed, it would have saved me oodles of time, not having to hand-write and then transpose every single word I’ve written onto a word processor.
It’s not like I have to write everything down. At work, I’ve been able to create professional letters, emails, invitations and flyers out of thin air. But when it comes to my novels, staring at a white, static screen with a blinking cursor would only block, or worse, empty my mind rather than fill it with words. Even if I have thought of exactly what I want to write, by the time I reach the computer and open a blank word document, the string of sentences have completely deserted my brain.
When it comes down to it, I think it has something to do with the different forms pen and paper vs computer possess. To me, pen and paper are more organic; it has different textures, sometimes even different colours. A standard black pen carries different ink intensities, and I am both intrigued and fascinated by how it comes out on paper.
Even more than that, the composition of pen and paper force me to look down; to block out all the distractions. Only when I struggle for words, like a swimmer coming up for air, I lift my head up to absorb the sceneries, more often than not staring directly at my husband, with headphones attached to his ears, bopping along to music he’s listening to; or my little Jack Russell, curling at my feet, snoring peacefully ; or, if I’m outside, the swaying of overgrown grass by the wind; all are living entities I can further draw inspirations from.
It is something I can’t achieve simply by staring at something so white and unmoving for a long time. There’s something restricting with my fingers being confined to the keyboard. And the various formatting icons at the top only add to the numbers of unnecessary disruptions. Perhaps, having been typing all the professional-sounding emails and letters for quite a number of years, I can only associate typing straight onto a computer for the formalities only, and writing sentences like “the inside of her cheek ticking slightly as if a living bug had been trapped between its muscles and skin” are just too fluid, too creative for my brain to make that connection with typing it desperately craves for another outlet.
I can honestly say that without resorting to pen and paper, the progress of my novels would not be where they are at today. So, in a digital age, where new electronic devices are being created and bombarded at us almost on a daily basis, I am actually quite content in keeping the dying art of madly scribbling pen to paper alive; the art that has produced countless love letters and classics literatures.
Maria S McDonald 