The
first time I tried using a typewriter I felt utterly alone: I had not
realized how much spell check had become a comforting companion. As a
net genner (Tapscott, 2009), the magic of technology is so integrated
into my life that I rarely give process a second thought.
The
rawness of typewriter metal and mechanics suddenly jolted me into a
wakefulness that had been numbed. My fingers fly over computer keys but
slosh in typewriter keys like rain boots through a freshly tilled field.
The typewriter slowed down my hands, disconnecting them from my
thoughts. My thoughts raced ahead like eager children. In the space
between the tap of the keys and my thought children in the distance, I
realized that the typewriter had caught me between ages. Dumbfounded, as
if stumbling upon a tesseract (L’ Engle, 2007), my hands were caught
in the pace of one century and my thoughts in the pace of another.
This
hiccup in tempo causes me to reflect on thought and language,
acknowledge the process of writing, and celebrate the becoming of text.
I
imagine a circle of writers, facing each other, not hidden behind
screens, connected by the sound of clucking keys; the cheerful ping of
the bell filling a cafe with the raw sound of machinery embossing
thought to press.
A lost pace unearthed.
So
I propose Type. Writer. Club. with a mandate to build a community of
writers that explore, or perhaps rediscover, the raw relationship
between humans and machines.
References
L'Engle, M. (2007). A Wrinkle in Time. New York, NY: Square Fish
Tapscott, D. (2009). Grown up digital: how the net generation is changing your world. NY, NY: McGraw Hill.
