On Paper

When I write one of my books, for many years, I com­pose and rewrite direct­ly on my com­put­er. This com­put­er is a PC with a fair­ly large screen. I also have a key­board that I chose because the keys move a good bit and make a rather loud clack when I press any one of its keys. (It hap­pi­ly reminds me of my old man­u­al type­writ­ers.) I do own a lap­top, but hon­est­ly, I dis­like it and use it only when I am trav­el­ing. The screen is small, and the keys are silent. But at least I get my work done.

At a cer­tain point, when I am writ­ing, I feel the need to print out my work. It appears I see the print­ed page dif­fer­ent­ly than text on a screen. I make more and bet­ter revi­sions on the print­ed page than I do on a screen.

One source I researched said, “Screens are excel­lent for quick ref­er­ences, search, and short texts. Print­ed pages are often bet­ter for deep, sus­tained read­ing and comprehension.”

Indeed, there is, appar­ent­ly, such a thing as “screen infe­ri­or­i­ty effect.” On a screen, one “under­stands slight­ly less, remem­bers few­er details, and has more dif­fi­cul­ty with com­plex ideas.”

I also think — speak­ing for myself — the print­ed page text has a greater affin­i­ty with a print­ed book, which is what I am try­ing to cre­ate. I tru­ly love read­ing books, love the phys­i­cal­i­ty of them. I want to cre­ate books, not pages. I think I read books more crit­i­cal­ly (in a pos­i­tive sense) on paper than on screens. That is — for me — the print­ed page feels more like a book I read, and I judge it more like an actu­al book. 

It must be said, as a fac­tor of age, I learned to read with phys­i­cal books. I would be curi­ous to know if there is any research that shows dif­fer­ent read­ing habits acquired by those who learn to read on a screen.

(I can recall feel­ing bad for the fel­low who once told me he had no need for a library of books. Instead, he said, “I keep all my books on my Kindle.”)

There is anoth­er way that enables me to see flaws in my texts and make revi­sions. When I write I am always lis­ten­ing (in my head) to what I am writ­ing. But then I go on to read my work aloud, which I always do from a print­ed text. In my writ­ing process, read­ing the text of a new book — to my wife — is always a cru­cial step forward.

Yes, she is an excel­lent (and nec­es­sary) crit­ic of my work, but when I read my work I also become a bet­ter critic.

Read­ing aloud forces me to con­sid­er every word I’ve writ­ten and say it. When I do so it is less my crit­i­cal fac­ul­ties that are mak­ing judge­ments, as it is my ear. I can hear when the rhythm of my work is off, or catch when a par­tic­u­lar phrase makes no sense, when word rep­e­ti­tions have crept in, and even when I am repeat­ing myself. It is as if — when read­ing aloud — my sto­ry telling goes back to its orig­i­nal for­mat, me telling you a sto­ry. Which is to say I trust my ear more than my eye.

Per­haps it is as Stephen King once said, “When some­one reads a text aloud, the lis­ten­er must move at the narrator’s pace and there­fore absorbs more detail and nuance in the language. “

In con­clu­sion, I am tempt­ed to say,

let’s hear it for good writing.