Writing at the computer: The Tool Is the Style
by Emil Zopfi
«Do you type your texts directly into the computer?» I’m often
asked. My usual answer is: «No, I write a rough draft by hand
first.» Which isn’t completely true. More and more often I compose
short, factual texts and journalistic pieces directly at the keyboard.
But when it is a question of literature, of sound and feeling,
of having to ’see‘ the story as I write, the machine gets in my
way. At that point even the hum of the hard disk disturbs my inner
images.
I had intended to key in this text direct, using the ‚idea processor‘
of my word-processing program, which enables me to make an outline
and then expand the single sections. The procedure, known as «top-down»,
was actually developed for writing computer programs. But literary
texts cannot be created top-down – for that I need the flow of
handwriting, the whisper of the pencil on paper. I need quiet
surroundings and the right mood. At the machine I feel more like
a technician or programmer.
Because my wife is at our computer just now, I’m writing the first
draft of this article by hand. This will undoubtedly influence
its structure and style. Maybe it will have more flow – swirl
and eddy more. The tool alters the product, a banal observation
in connection with hammers, files and computerized machine tools
but comparatively unusual when applied to writing. Do texts tend
to improve or suffer as a result of computers? That is the question.
There will probably never be an answer as it won’t be long until
almost all writers are using computers. Nor has the question of
how typewriters altered the form and contents of texts ever been
answered. It can only be conjectured.
When John Steinbeck wrote East of Eden, he kept a log of the writing
process. In The Journal of a Novel he describes the way he cultivated
the work with pencils, checking the hardness of the leads, sharpening
them until the writing tool felt right in his hand. Depending
on his mood he changed pencils, occasionally using extra-soft
ones because of the particular sensitivity they require.
Whether the keyboard allows particular sensitivity is doubtful,
that it affects one’s mood is indisputable. Perhaps it is true
to say: the tool is the style. Clearly a keyboard can never afford
the same flow as the free and easy movement of a pen or pencil.
Hitting the keys uses different muscles, the brain and thought
processes are stimulated differently. The function of motor activity
during writing is one of the great unknowns of the creative process.
What is certain is that movement, thinking and feeling are closely
linked. As closely as tool and product.
When visual artists sketch knead, model or work canvas and paper,
they do so with intense physical energy. Even graphic designers,
who make intensive use of computers nowadays, draft their designs
by hand. And architects reach for a soft pencil before feeding
their designs into CAD computer systems. But ever since there
have been (type)writing machines, there have been authors who
are able to compose more fluently at the keyboard, who are disturbed
by neither the rattling of mechanical parts nor the hum of an
electric motor. I know a woman who can formulate only at the typewriter,
and a teacher told me that he needed a computer to discover his
gift for inventing stories. Perhaps the writing situation at the
machine dispels writer’s block because it neutralizes the negative
‚I-haveto-write-a-composition‘ feeling inculcated at school. Correct
sentences need not be produced immediately, at first go; corrections
can be made at any time.
On the other hand, it took the American writer R. Rothenberg the
first hundred pages of a book he was writing at the computer to
notice that he was producing ‚garbage‘. He started work again
– with a ball-point pen.
The writing process as a whole is very delicate and as yet comparatively
unexplored. Only the rudiments of a theory exist. Whatever changes
the computer may bring about, hardly anyone seems to be particularly
concerned. Least of all writers, who are delighted with their
new tool. No more tedious retyping of manuscripts since everything
that has been keyed in is stored and can be retrieved at any time
– barring operating errors. Making changes is as easy as pie –
if the text is short and the passages to be edited few and far
between. The publishing house receives the diskette along with
the manuscript and even pays the author a supplementary fee for
saving compositor’s costs. All advantages that cannot simply be
dismissed.
Everyone writes differently everyone has his own way of planning,
developing and completing texts. Some may have a more top-down,
programmerlike approach, others let the story flow. The literary
form created in the process is ultimately a question of character,
mood and organization. The Swiss author Silvio Blatter who has
already written two novels at the screen, says: «I notice that
this technology is very much in keeping with the way I think when
I am writing. No novel evolves linearly from front to back. I
leap back and forth, replace words, move whole passages, make
subsequent additions and cuts, and for that the computer is the
ideal aid.»
The computer is undoubtedly a perfect tool for word-processing
and text layout. I use it that way myself to great advantage.
But even in that phase of writing all advantages are thrown away
if a first draft is slipshod and careless, and the text subsequently
requires protracted reworking. Too much editing smoothes down
the rough edges of any text, making it bare and boring. If the
first shot is no good, neither an idea processor nor the latest
version of a word-processing program will help.
Copying is the greatest danger. Instead of writing a passage anew,
which also means re-experiencing it, reliving it, the author simply
retrieves it from somewhere, copies it in and polishes it up.
Because the computer is such a powerful tool, ever more text of
ever poorer quality is being produced, above all in the fields
of non-fiction and journalism. Emphasis is shifting from creation
to production. Works are constructed, built, patched, instead
of dreamt, heard, seen.
But it’s time for a confession. I’ve made abundantly good use
of the copy option for this article too. My starting point was
an approximately three-month-‚old‘ text, which I retrieved to
the screen. Then I added, deleted, copied inserted … Do you
notice anything? Maybe the original flow is gone, maybe everything
is so solidly glued and well-polished that the breaks are no longer
recognizable. But it is a completely different text than if I
had sat down with pencil and paper and started afresh.
When I set up for myself as a freelance writer nine years ago,
I bought an electric typewriter with ball and correction key.
From then on I handed in beautiful manuscripts in courier type.
Three years later I purchased my first PC. For a while I produced
practically unreadable texts on a dot matrix printer. That typographic
appearance, and not only literary form, is important is something
I’ve learnt since I became involved in desktop publishing. Today
I can produce readable manuscripts on the laser printer again;
I can lay out book or magazine pages on the screen and give the
diskettes to the printer as is. I must admit that these possibilities
fascinate me. Recently I used my computer to prepare a friend’s
book of verse for the printer. From this perspective the computer
reintroduces greater autonomy into the writer’s workshop. Why
not produce more independent publications for a small, interested,
intimate readership? The possibilities of decentralization, of
working locally rather than with mass publishing houses have definitely
gained importance. New and interesting forms of literary publishing
and distribution are going to emerge. Perhaps that is the most
radical cultural change the computer will effect in the literary
field.
But at what price? A somewhat adequate system is at least ten
times as expensive as a good electric typewriter. I have to earn
the money I need for that workplace. And my literary work may
suffer as a result. Apart from questions of contents, I am expending
more and more energy on typography and layout. I have developed
great respect for the compositor’s craft – something I had hardly
paid any attention to before. My work as an author has become
more all-encompassing: I accompany my text from first draft on
paper to finished page, from pencil to computer set. As fascinating
as that is, it is a burden as well. In any case, we won’t be able
to decide whether the computer is a better writing tool than the
pencil until books like East of Eden have been composed at the
keyboard. – For the moment we’re still waiting.
Written 1989
Translated from the German by Eileen Walliser-Schwarzbart