I’ve been dictating some of my writing for a little white, sometimes snippets of ideas or brainstorming. I’m not necessarily dictating fully formed sentences, but when I do, they invariably come out a little wonky and I have to do quite a lot of editing afterwards.
I’m actually somebody that enjoys editing. It makes me feel like a craftsman.
I have considered that the way I am dictating isn’t the most efficient method. Should I speak out all of my punctuation? Should I speak slower and enunciate more? Does the fact that I always say “gonna” instead of “going to” more than just a fixable tick of my personal vernacular or the tell-tale sign of a deeper moral failing?
I’m gonna ignore that last question.
I often listen to craft books by other authors. Sometimes they focus on the craft of writing, other times on ways to be more efficient or hitting particular tropes. I really enjoy writing books as they give me a glimpse into the thinking of other writers. I especially like those that talk about productivity, since this is something that I want to work on in my own career.
Now, I’m not a “productivity bro” which, if you have ever searched for “how to get more done” or something along those lines, you would have been introduced to. My issues are task initiation and consistency but that’s for a future blog post (maybe).
What I want to talk about is a common analogy I hear when writers are discussing transitioning from typing to dictation as a way to increase their productivity. The analogy goes something like this: “Imagine the difference in output between a typerwiter and a computer. Why would a writer stick to using the typewriter in a time where laptops are available.” Generally, something like that.
It is an argument that the technology (or process) may be different from what they’re used to, but to discount it completely is a bit short-sighted. But I think the analogy is misguided.
I’m old enough to have started on a typewriter when I was a kid, transitioned to an electric typewriter as a teenager, then to a stand-alone word processor as a young adult, then to an old Epsom MS DOS machine running WordPerfect on a 5.25 inch floppy disk. Yes.
Please excuse my while I brush the mummy dust off my shoulders.
I would argue that the transition from typewriter to my MacBook Air is immense, but not in my method of input. Each one of those incarnations required typing. The act of writing necessitated a connecton between the words/picutres in my brain and my fingers, by passing all of the other motor controls (for the most part). Each one of those technogies is just a variation on a theme: typing.
What is jarring is the fact that over time, the sense of permanence of each word has diminished. My manual typewriter didn’t hae correction tape, though at some point I discovered WhiteOut. The electronic typewriter may have had this, but it too created an inky imprint upon the page that was there, permanently, even if you tried to cover it up. I remember looking closely at the new word carefully typed over the barely perceivable “corrected” word.
It was Epsom that shifted the paradigm. The Epson told me that none of my words really existed.
Sure they were little points of light, joined together by some sort of mathematical formula, but they were tangible. They weren’t there, not without the rumble-strip jitterings of the dot-matrix printer and its continuous paper feed.
With each computer that came after (the no-name PC, the Compaq, the Gateway, the used MacBook, etc) that impermanence remained (if you can say that). The more I wrote, the less I could feel them as concrete things.
The more I wrote, the less I bent spacetime with my words.
Now, this (heavily edited) dictation carries even less mass. The layers of technology, of processes that need to be performed before turning my thoughts into feather light etchings on paper (Toner Low!) has increased. The technology has quickened the journey from interior thought to external word (even shortening the trip – no longer having to pass down my arms but straight forward past my teeth).
The journey slips into impermanence.
So, like the thousands of photos I’ve taken with my smart phone, I have any number of words, snippets, ideas, half-baked sentences, a riddle, and some poems, but none of them contain the heft required to make a 10 pica dent into a yellowed piece of watermarked paper.
Ah I too am yellowed in a way. My age is showing, but so is my willingness to learn and grow.
I embraced dictation because I enjoy talking to myself and have always been comfortable doing some sort of “performance” (which helps, especially with dialog).
But I double-check that my words have been captured by the voice recording app and make sure that the transcription doesn’t stop halfway through.
I am of the age where if I can’t see it, I’m not completely convinced it exists.
That’s common when you reach a certain age. You’ve seen and done too much.
And we, too, slip into impermanence.