November 7, 2013
This writing is different from the hand-writing I have done
in my journal. It is different because I use a keyboard to produce these words.
When I write in my journal, I write with a pen or a pencil. I like to hold my
journal, I like to hold my pen or pencil, but I don’t like to hold my laptop. One
may think there is no big difference, but the difference is huge. To me keyboarding
is a rational activity, while writing with a pen is an emotional affair. And, writing with a pencil, is even more
emotional than writing with pen. These different ways of writing are important,
because each way of writing has its very own process.
While writing these words, I find myself in front of the
computer screen of my warm laptop, which rests on my thighs and buzzes softly.
When I write in my journal, by contrast, I turn the pages of my note book,
which gives me a more pleasant tactile sensation. While keyboarding, I press buttons with my
finger tips of both hands, but while writing, I hold and move a pen or a pencil
with one hand, my right hand. These are very different stimuli, which each have
their own response. It seldom happens, but I have done it and the results are indeed
very different, that I try to write with my left hand. This is more difficult
because I am not used to it and it results in unusually shaped words
and content.
The feel of writing with a pen is different from
writing with a pencil. The former has a plasticy, inky, permanent feel,
but the latter has a natural, woodsy, momentary feel. With a pencil,
I make a dusty, erasable trail, which gets thicker as the lead gets blunted and
needs to be sharpened. I am more inclined to doodle with a pencil than with a
pen. When writing with a pencil, I seldom find myself having to erase anything,
but, while writing with a pen, I have to cross things out all the time. This
makes my pen-writings look messier than my pencil-writings. If it is erasable,
I hardly have a need to erase, but if my writing is permanent, because
I write with a pencil, things get messy. It makes me think about why I never
wanted to write in first place and why I didn’t appreciate my initial pen
writings. They just looked too ugly. Who wants to read that? I don’t even like
to look at it myself.
There is a precision and a sense of harshness when I
write with a pencil that has just been sharpened. Things gradually get friendlier
and rounder as the lead point and the lines it creates become thicker. My yellow pencil gets shorter and is more difficult to hold as it shrinks to a
stump and disappears while I write, but the black impersonal pen stays the same
and annoys the hell out of me once it runs out of ink. Writing with a pen that almost ran out of ink makes me surprised that I can still write so much
more, while I was convinced it had already run out. Other times, I thought I could
continue, but I was wrong. I had to throw the pen away and find another one. Although
eventually I throw all pens and pencils away, I become attached more
easily to my pen than to my pencil. If I like how it writes, I like to continue
with that pen. The writing feel of a pencil fluctuates, while the writing feel
with a pen is more stable. However, if it runs out of ink, and the line gets
thinner, that stability is gone again.
I remember great pens, which looked better than they wrote. I kept those pens, because they were so nice, but since they did not
write well, I almost never used them. They were sitting there, in a box in
my draw or in a cup on my desk. When there was nothing else to write with, I
would take them out and give them another try, only to find out that they were
not up to the task. How different that is with pencils. They never let me down.
All I needed was to sharpen them once in a while and they were good to go
again. I like the hexagonal shape and don’t like round pencils, because they just
don’t hold as nicely. I like to sharpen my pencil, because it is break from my
writing, which announces itself.
This keyboarding I am doing right now seems to make me forget about how I write. The how of how I write is
important to me, because, in speech, the how is important to me too. The how of how we write determines whether we
read what we write while we write it.
There is a great deal of difference between reading what one writes while one writes and reading what one
writes after one has written.
During the first, one adds mindfulness to one’s writing, which is lacking in
the second. If one reads what one has
written only after one has written it, one finds oneself to be separate from
what one has written. Although one may feel a sense of release or relief, one’s
writing was primarily an escape from
something. That seems to be why such writing makes one feel separate from what
one has written. The need to reread it is minimal because one wanted to get rid of
something, one wanted as they say, to get something of one’s chest. If the writer reads his
or her writing while he or she is
writing it, this writer is able to write about different matters than if he or
she wasn’t doing that. This ability is determined by reading while one writes. One behavior makes the
other behavior possible. Holding a pen makes writing words on paper possible.
Likewise, reading while one writes, makes a kind of writing possible which is not
something one wants to get rid of or escape from, but which is something one
wants to hold on to and cherish. Then what one writes feeds back into what one is
going to write. When reading while one writes, one senses the reader who
invites the writer to write.
Summarizing the aforementioned, we can say that how we write influences what we are writing about. Furthermore, how we write also determines what we will be writing about. The
future of our writing is determined by how
we write. If how we write does not
change, what we write will be of less
interest and we will continue to produce more of the same writing. This is comparable
to our listening to music. People buy certain tunes that sound similar to what they have
already heard. The similarity between writing and music reminds us that our
preference for certain tunes necessarily involves a conditioned way of
listening, which perhaps shouldn’t be considered listening at all. The fact that we
only want to hear these particular sounds exemplifies that we don’t listen to what we
don’t want to hear. If we want to hear what we have already heard, our listening
is predetermined. It doesn’t mean that we can’t hear anything else, we can, but that we
are not inclined to listen to it. We are accustomed to the tunes which distract
us from our harsh reality. It is natural for us to move away from aversive
stimuli. Regardless of whether we believe otherwise, we all do this continuously. The exact same thing
occurs in writing. People want to read familiar stuff and more of the same,
because that gives them comfort, it calms them down and it creates a bubble.
However, when people write what has already been written, because those who read only want to read what they have already
read, nothing new will be written. Thus, our way of reading determines what
will be written.
Since our way of listening, while playing, gave rise to the
creation of new types of music and since we became aware that our way of
reading, while writing, resulted into new ways of writing, we can be
pretty sure that our way of listening is going to determine if something new will be said or can be said. One behavior will make another behavior
possible and, at certain point, even necessary.
As a child, I started out writing in grade school with a pencil.
After I practiced writing my letters and words, I began to write with a pen. It
took me many years to start using a typewriter, because the dominance of printed
words felt oppressive to me. School and education had little appeal to me,
because there was not enough reinforcement and too much punishment. Because of
this, I wanted to speak and be heard. I didn’t care much about reading and
writing and was not good at it. For many years, the only books I took from the
library were those that had pictures in them. Actually, I wanted to be listened
to more than that I wanted to speak. It used to piss me off each time I read “it has been
said that…”, because I realized that although authors across the world write “It
has been said that..” that nothing was really said, nothing is said. Authors
use phrases as “So and so argues that….” while “so and so says that…” when in
reality, nobody is saying anything. They are referring to the fact that “so and
so wrote” and that “so and so
responded” to that in writing. What
we have is a mix up. We think we say things because we write about them, but we
don’t say anything if we don’t realize that writing is not the same as saying. To say that it is, is wrong on its face. It is true, of course, that we can write
about what was said and that we can say that which was written, but to consider
them as the same obviates our need to speak with each other and to listen to
each other. When speech is not listened to, it is not speech. When listeners
are not listened to, when the needs of those who do not speak are not
“represented” by all these important speakers, who, by the way, always have written
their speech, then what goes on in the name of spoken
communication is twisted.
Because it is complex, the role of writing
in undermining human speech has not been analyzed, but it is worthwhile to
realize the influence of writing on how we talk.Where is the evidence that writing, reading and studying have
enhanced human relationship? We are still as incapable of talking with each
other as we have always been. Writing, reading and studying didn’t enhance mankind’s
spoken communication. It couldn’t because it takes us away from it. What needs
to be understood is that writing couldn’t
enhance spoken communication. The assumption that writing can enhance spoken
communication is false. How much more writing must we produce
before we begin to see that it was speaking and listening that makes
writing and reading meaningful and not the other way around?
When this author
started writing, he often got lost in his words. This is what happens to
all writers. This is what written language does to us. It is about time that
someone calls a stop to this problematic process. Writing should
bring us closer to each other because it should describe how we
interact, rather than making us believe that we don’t need to interact. Spoken communication can enhance writing if this writing
keeps focusing on spoken communication. However, most writing doesn’t do that. It
proclaims to do that, but it doesn’t. Most writing takes us away from the idea
that nothing is actually being said. Although it may appear as if an author
is saying something to the reader, this illusion is created by the ability of
the writer to produce what the reader wants. This preaching-to-the-choir
phenomenon is about 1) selling a message, 2) being sold on a message and 3)
endlessly buying into that message. In operant conditioning these three stages
are identified as 1) stimulus, 2) response, and 3) consequence. Due to negative
reinforcement readers keep reading more of the same nonsense, because by doing
so they are able turn away from the negativity which dominates so much of their
relationships. If something which is considered negative disappears due to a
particular behavior (reading, face-booking, texting, TV or games), this behavior is more
likely to appear in the future. Our need, demand for and addiction to entertainment
is explained by operant conditioning.
When this author was a child in grade school, his letter box
fell on the floor and the letters lay scattered all over the around. It was an embarrassing experience, which set the stage for anxieties and problems. After the
letters with the help of the teacher had been put back into the box, he dropped the box a second
time, but, this time, on purpose! It wasn’t until this
author learned about operant conditioning that he was able to understand
why he had deliberately dropped his
letter box on the floor as a child. Rather than acting out of defiance, he had
simply tried to get reinforced again. His deliberate dropping of the letter
box, which was preceded by the accidental falling of the box, had always puzzled
and troubled him. The accident had resulted in the friendly attention and care of
the teacher, who otherwise had been harsh and punitive to him. She had
been on the floor with him picking up all the letters and calmly putting them
back into place. After he dropped the letter box on purpose, however, this author
didn’t receive any kindness. He was punished and humiliated for his action. He
was made to pick up the letters all by himself, while everybody was watching. Because
he tried to do it as quickly as possible, he accidentally dropped the box another once he was almost done putting all the letters back in place. It made
everybody laugh, but the teacher was not laughing and she sternly insisted he pick it up the
letters by himself. This horrible scene set the stage for the author’s
troubled connection with language. This author never forgot this painful
memory of sitting on the cold floor with all these letters scattered around
him. Only many years later, this author was told that his grade school
teacher, who had four children and was always seated on the front row of our
church, had committed suicide. This poor woman had probably been overwhelmed by
her life.
Throughout grade school years teachers would ask
questions and if students knew the answer they were praised. Although this
author often tried, he didn’t receive much praise, because his answers weren’t
correct. If he was asked
something by the teacher directly, he often didn’t know the right answer. Also, his
spelling and writing was below average and he got a bad grade for language
as well as for his behavior. He was told not to speak before his turn, but felt
ignored. The author’s father, who often physically punished him, said he was
not listening to him. No matter how hard he tried, this author ended doing the wrong thing. Nothing the author did was pleasing his
father. There was not any approval for anything this author did.
He mainly got disapproval for what he didn’t do or for what he did wrong. Consequently, his father was not involved with him and was unable to connect with him.
Even today, this author is sad that his father was never able to be genuine
with him.
This reading while I write lays bare the contingencies of reinforcement
which set the stage for the early stages of my language development. I am the author of these words and I
had to come to terms with the sad realization that my father will probably
never be able to respond to me the way I would like him to. It has taken me many
years to accept and understand that it has nothing to do with what I say, write or do. I have been so terribly upset with my father and with others when my words have
not the effect I had wanted them to have. It had gotten to the point that I didn't want others to have my words anymore and that I wanted to keep my thoughts and feelings to
myself. Words are not meant to be kept to myself and may be one day I share
this key-boarded journal. I feel that
this day is getting closer and yet I also fear it may never come. This writing
unexpectedly takes me into a feeling of despair which has been with me my
entire life. Will my words affect the reader into understanding what has not
been understood? Will these words lead to the conversation that I would like to
have? Can they set the stage for a new way of communicating? I hope they do and
I trust they can. This writing is to let the reader know that a different way
of communication is possible and necessary.
