To live fully is to dive headlong into the throb of life; to dance upon the delicate waves of sensations; to thrill at the cool touch of an evening upon your skin. (Or a sweltering sidereal sky, if you’re where I am).
I'm going to argue that a typewriter brings you to life, whereas a computer brings you further away from life. Anything that brings you further away from life brings you closer to … death.
If you spell 'live' backwards, you get, of course 'evil.' But we need not go that far.
Harrowing Screens.
The screen induces a form of hypnosis, a trance-state that makes one more susceptible to ideas, and more prone to addiction to the stimuli flowing forth. The United States chose the most addictive refresh rate for their early televisions, whereas Europe did not. [See the documentary ‘Century of the Self’ for this spectacle in long detail].
If you've ever done a long-form meditation, of a few days or more, you may remember how hard it is to ditch the screen, and how hard it is to get back onto the screen afterward. After breaking free, entering the visceral throb, everything else seems pale and artificial. Fear-based headlines or implausible stories rife with violence seem somehow disorienting in this sublimely non-digital ease.
That's why I got a typewriter, initially, actually.
I love writing, I thought.
And I love…
NOT being on computers.
Can those two thoughts live under one roof?
Moreover, I like writing outside, and the screen glare was blinding.
Was there another way?
The other way.
It just so happened to have turned out that this the 'other way' was not plucked from the future, or even from the present, but from the past.
I’m guilty. I liked to punctuate a velvet with crude and rapturous ideas; ideas arising from the cisterns of the evening. Before 'blue light' having a melatonin-inhibiting effect was even a known phenomenon, I was already intuitively wondering how to freey myself from the deep blue without giving up those oh so delirious visits from that nocturnal muse.
How to write better.
Define 'better'.
Use a tool that fits the definition.
Tevel in un-distracted flow states.
Be free at least sometimes.
Better writing.
'Better' to me is synonymous with 'clearer'. And not 'clearer' in a linear way, meaning clarity of the presentation of ideas, well, not solely that, but also clarity of the translation from the inner state to the outer: sparkling clear transmission from one soul to another, one skin to another, one ear to another. Like the sparkling grit in Lawrence Durrel's Alexandria Quartet. Poetic, depressed, hopeless, romantic. Full of the must of tombs, and ancient starlight. It’s a version of himself, splayed out across an ancient city.
Better Tool.
A tool that frees the user from distraction so that they can find that clarity. A tool that doesn’t allow the indulgence or distraction of editing. We tend to edit ourselves out of existence, as James Joyce or someone else enters our mind and fingers, beating our own voice into submission before it is born.
A bonus if this tool also frees the user from the screen for any length of time.
Flow States.
Sitting with this apt writing tool for any length of time invariably leads to a succcession of flow states. Simply cutting out distraction births them as well, almost 'by accident.' Most of us are so scattered, we're barely functioning above a minimal baseline. Even writers just crank out mediocre writing, thinking that productivity somehow automatically makes them better. Progress doesn’t happen by ‘accident.’ It happens through diligence and commitment.
Carve out time.
Wake, leap out of bed, attack the keys. Before the fires come roaring over the horizon (and I’m thinking of a literal fire approaching when I lived in Sebastopol, California), you’ve already done what matters most.
Having something to build a writing ritual around can be a helpful thing, and again, a totem that doesn't detract from the ritual itself is ideal.
A typewriter comes to mind. It's honest, if nothing else.
For one thing, it 'only writes', so if you sit before a machine that 'only writes', what will you do? It’s not a research tool, a design tool, a VR tool, a gaming tool, all masquerading as a writing tool. On a computer, ‘writing’ is like an afterthought in a great digital void. Let me know if you reach that promised land, after wading over a teeming sea of apps, like asps.
Suddenly, you’ll notice the inspiration to browse ways to make money or to heal your disease?
No, those are only circumstantial adjustments. Here, we’re seeking something far more profound: coming into deep contact with our brave and powerful self.
Boom.
In this case, clack and awe.
Lull yourself into a visceral trance (which is different than a disconnected trance) so that you can access the luminous brilliance of the unconscious mind. Feel that tinkling in your fingers and forearms as they work: touch the grace of natural light.
As a few prophets have mouthed:
Be not afraid to punctuate silence with a meaningful sound.
Nor to stand out from a crowd because of your objective choice of instrument.
Yeah, it happens to be stunning, life-affirming, mechanically robust... those are mere bonuses.
Now, of course, you'll have to conquer your own mind. But once you're flowing in the right direction, that may be the easier part.
Write on, my friend.
Steven Budden Jr.
Technician of Ecstasy at Budden Events (An existential detective agency. Find yourself)
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Founder at The Classic Typewriter Company (Saving the world, one non-digital page at a time).