On an episode of 60 Minutes a while back I heard of a writer who preferred to create on a typewriter instead of a computer because it forced him to reconsider things more effectively. Ray Bradbury drafted Fahrenheit 451 on a rented typewriter in the basement of a college building. He inserted dimes at the top and bottom of every hour while academicians pursed their lips and students learned to filter out the insanities through pencil tips.
This is somewhat related to this un-lanced boil of a book I’m writing — a carbuncle of pain just beyond my reach. There was a time when I had the third edition of its outline (leaner, meaner, and so much more striking) at the ready for the third rewrite, but the ones and zeroes decided to cough softly and go belly up. It was only 15 minutes of work that needed to be redone, but there’s some lesson learned somewhere that I don’t want to think about (having another writer inhouse, going through a real-life rewrite, might help with that). It’s easy to be anti-progress and scissor the loom strings when things go wrong, but I remember that for every ugly misfire of technology there are a hundred benefits it slips out of her sleeve, rolling off the table with barely a notice. I only care when something goes wrong.
It’s kind of like getting to kiss your Fate on the lips while she holds Death in her mouth. You end up dead but you did something no one else could do.
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