Keyboards stink.
Posted 1 year ago at 6:33 am. 2 comments
Blogging is different on a keyboard.
As redundant as it is, I’m partial to painstakingly writing down each word, taking time to pause and allow the impact of what I’m watching unfold before me to wash over me, envelope me completely, so I can decide whether it is infact a giant bunch of bollocks or not. Unfortunately for my literary ego, the answer is usually a yes. Not just a yes, a Yes. Perhaps even a YES. Sometimes it’s something along the lines of a giant flashing light, a crimson alarm wobbling back and forth while I sit there, chin on palms, trying to figure out exactly where my semblance of writing ability took itself after highschool. He always joked about fleeing to Aruba. Damn deserter, I hope he gets skin cancer.
What I’m trying to say here is that when I blog directly from brain to keyboard, there’s something missing. Paper and a slightly gnawed pencil (or, in periods of sheer desperation, a pen) allow for crossing out, doodling in margins, writing “You’re a bit of a wanker” without anyone else having to see it - and it’s effective as a means of communicating. It’s as though I’m able to illustrate emotion, occasions, people etc in a far more accurate light than when I’m just wiping my fingers on the keyboard. I think the problem with typing directly onto the keyboard is the inability to go back and see what you would’ve originally written. There’s no drafting, there’s no scribbling hastily and muttering “I’ll leave that there so I never, ever do that again”, hell, there’s no drawing kitties all over the place. I happen to enjoy my dismal attempts at kitties all over the place.
All that aside, there’s certainly something to be said for the convenience of typing directly to computer. Like a built in thesaurus. When you’re done? Click, publish, gone. No evidence of any actual blogging forethought - just a final copy on a page. When I take the time to put pencil to paper, I scribble furiously, occasionally looking over one shoulder to make sure noone sees what I’m writing. People have tried, and I’ve snapped at them - it almost feels as though they’d be able to see my minor vulnerabilities after seeing something I made with my hands. Ridiculous, really, considering I go from there, to typing it all in here (whilst making minor modifications, I must admit) where I’m inviting the entire world to the Jessica-insight table for a lovely dinner and a slap in the face.
I’m sorry for all the slapping in the face. God, I’ve gotta go find someone who can teach me how to write.
