Whenever I visit schools to talk about the writing process,
I get to the part about revision, and a collective groan goes up. So I, of
course, tell the students that revision is where the magic happens in
writing—where you take the sludge you’ve just thrown on the page and mold and
compress and shape it until it towers like a prize-winning sand castle.
And if that doesn’t convince them, I tell them how good they
have it. “When I was your age,” I say—immediately dating myself as no longer
young and hip because I’m old enough to use a phrase like that—“revision was a
lot harder.” Oh man, this is sounding like the proverbial story my parents used
to tell me about walking five miles to school uphill—both ways.
But bear with me. Today, if you want to move a sentence, no
problem, just cut and paste. Want to cut an entire paragraph? Just highlight
and hit delete. And adding words doesn’t require an ugly caret (you know, one
of those triangle marks kind of like an arrow). Just plunk your cursor where
you want the new information and start typing.
And then I tell students how we used to have to do it:
Recopy everything by hand! Talk about making a person not want to revise. Why
should I replace the word “go” with “saunter” if doing so means rewriting an
entire page—and that’s assuming I don’t mess up somewhere else and have to
start over three times.
I was in high school when my family bought our first word
processor. Finally, my editor self could go wild! I could cut and move things.
I could add entire sentences or even paragraphs—and the word processor would shift
everything for me. Granted, it took forever to reformat the page, and it might
lose a few lines in the process. But still, the hand cramps it saved me!
So, I clearly am a fan of technology and the advances it
brings to the writing process.
HOWEVER. You knew there would be a however, didn’t you?
However, sometimes a computer just can’t take the place of
good old pen and paper. There’s something different about the way our brains
work when we’re typing and when we’re writing. I don’t know the science behind
it—and I really don’t need to (though if anyone knows, feel free to chime in—I’d
love to hear it). All I need to know is that I think and process information
differently when I have my hands on a keyboard compared to when I’m clutching a
pen in my hand and furiously scribbling away on the page. I suspect it has
something to do with the tactile feel of the the pen and the tangible act of
forming words on the page, but whatever the reason, it works.
While I often write a first draft on the computer (because
my typing hands are faster than my writing hands and my head is faster than both
at this stage of the process), I prefer to do my revising on paper. It’s not
pretty, with lines crossed out here, rewritten, and crossed out again, and
arrows zigzagging across the page or even across multiple pages. But it works
for me. It allows my imagination to just kind of ooze onto the page. And that’s
what I need when I’m revising. Of course, later I have to go back and decipher
all those marks so I can make the changes on my electronic manuscript, but
that’s later me’s problem. For now, I can scribble to my heart’s content.
Pen and paper (or notecards, ah how I love notecards!) are
also excellent for outlining. I use notecards as a sort of freeform brainstorm
of all the potential scenes, descriptions, and more wandering around in my
head. Later, I can rearrange them, move them, pull cards out or put new ones
in.
And even though I haven’t written an entire draft on paper
in years (welcome back, hand cramps), I have been known to work out difficult
scenes entirely on paper. When I’m first playing around with an idea, just
noodling potential scenarios, I might sketch those out (with words, not my
rudimentary stick figures) on paper, too.
Paper is great for journaling as well. This year, I set
myself the challenge of starting each writing session by writing a poem—gotta exercise
those creative muscles so they don’t get flabby. I find that writing poetry on
paper feels much more organic and natural than pounding it out on a sterile,
lifeless computer. That direct conduit from my brain to the paper through my
arm allows me to sling words onto the page uninhibited by whatever it is that
holds me back when I’m staring at a blank screen.
Plus, I hear you can use paper if you’re ever in a situation
where you don’t have an electronic device with you (unthinkable, I know, but I
hear it happens).
So next time you’re stuck or you want to experience your
work in a whole new way, put aside the computer (and tablet and phone) and pull
out a good old-fashioned piece of paper and a pen (I find colored ones make me
the happiest, incidentally). Then let your imagination slip right out onto the
page with the ink. You might be surprised at the results.
What about you? Do you use old-fashioned pen and paper for
any part of the writing process? Do you find it differs from typing on a
computer or other device, or is it just me? Let me know in the comments.
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