reconfiguring my relationship to online writing
Writing online is not the same as writing in a notebook. It doesn’t call for the same set of processes occurring in your brain. And most importantly, the “efficiency” you lose out on with this form forces linearity through slowing down, which feels impossible to replicate with a device (unless you’re deliberately trying to click slower or type at 50 wpm less).
I’m wondering if part of the reason is my job and my relationship with computers. How my brain default operates in front of a screen. Scoping out novelty and idea exploration on a digital notepad gets me routinely in the habit of starting and stopping. When the creative process of writing is happening on the computer, my fingers race to try and keep stride with my thoughts. It’s more likely to get lost in the woods of unfinished trails, or to buy into the idea that I’m in a sprint. I must capture it all.
I have been finding the practice of online writing (and publicizing anything) weirdly unnatural and blocking. This is different from my usual experience with the free-flowing experience no plan take of writing on paper. It doesn’t call for the same set of processes occurring in your brain. And most importantly, the “efficiency” you lose out on with this form forces linearity through slowing down, which feels impossible to replicate with a device (unless you’re deliberately trying to click slower or type at 50 wpm less).
Perhaps on an unconscious level, I’ve learned that any and all screen based communications must be twice as fast. For emails, messages, or any written communications at work, we are expected to be timely. But how much of the creative process do I want to hand over to devices (both my learned -isms that are perhaps against flow, and my machines)? There’s this weird habit I notice I do often with ambitious computer based writing projects. Where I’ll start a sentence then in the middle, completely abandon it, leave a space, and stamp it with a period. Then start a completely different thought. It’s become my reminder to return back to the thought and finish it. And don’t just finish it with mediocrity. Finish it beautifully. Where does an expectation like that derive from?
One thing I do know is it’s those mountains of piled unfinished sentences which I attribute to a sense of never being done. Always believing I need to refine before reaching some finish line which dissipates like a mirage. To the ghosts of all other projects unfinished.
There’s something else I noticed — I never experience this neurosis when I’m simply writing in a notebook with a pen. It’s strange but my theory is over the past 25+ years of forming a relationship with my computer, I’ve made hundreds of thousands (possibly millions!) of tiny associative links that I simply can’t fully understand.
The patterning my brain has made is not necessarily an area I’d like to deconstruct to “improve my computer writing process”, because I have the awareness to now know it’s not something I can change. And even if it is, I love technology so much that I get caught up in a completely different mode of operating, where it feels like a fight when I’m trying to just write. Or explore an idea to its width’s end. I’ve also noticed that whenever I open up a blank document, I blank too. And I lean on my physical notebooks or journal entries as a kick start, anyways.
Why not just see it all to completion here? I’ve entered flow while writing and here is what it feels like: being one with the page. Attuned to certain senses, at ease, and enjoying the process fully. I’m finishing my sentences, because I’m not chasing eloquence. And I’m not leaning on the aid of the internet.
I’m going to try this same technique for more research oriented and technical projects. Ones that require reading, saving, referencing, and just general rabbit-holing. My biggest blocks that prevent progress there are in distraction and perhaps a mental framing I’ve unconsciously put myself in, where I need a screen for productivity and insight.
[Imagine if before crafting a Confluence page of requirements, or writing a project plan for any software feature, you had to first write it in a notebook first. Would this have an impact on your effectiveness? Or would it “slow you down” too much that your backlog of things to type then transcribe would grow far too large for upkeep? I think the software engineer equivalent would be writing your code logic and plan out before typing it in Visual Studio. The designer would be writing down the workflow experience before opening Figma. The executive would be writing down the content for slides or reports before putting together the deck. And I don’t mean short notes here, but full sentences.]
Life and craft are a series of experiments and iterations. What I lack is ritual and purpose for my relationship with the computer in the writing process. I’m going to try and treat the computer stage of crafting an essay as another opportunity for flow. But this will come after the first draft from paper. Copying each sentence calls for an opportunity to pause and simultaneously edit or refine. But the work and thoughts, at least, are already there. It also opens up opportunities to research and scour the internet for aesthetic aid, or that one quote, or that one book reference which could enhance the essay or written piece.
Even with the process of writing on paper first, I don’t feel as tempted to return back to the start of the paragraph, and re-read, switch to editing mode, or want to architect the sections of my work before I’ve even begun (causing the infamous start-stop experience). Physically it’s already written. It’s there. Switching mediums to allow content flow and lightness back into writing so it doesn’t feel so heavy. So overwhelming. It’s not you, it’s the form of expression you’re using.