Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The Physical Writing Process [Pt. 2: William Gibson – Hemingway’s Typewriter]


This picture made me realize William Gibson and I share the same birthday
Hemingway and his typewriter

In my (unpublished) novel Role Playing Games Aren’t Censored, a character says, “The cyberpunk future was created on Hemingway’s typewriter,” which is a direct allusion to William Gibson. Speaking of Neuromancer and the other books in his Sprawl trilogy in an interview with Playboy, he said, “The typewriter that I actually wrote that stuff on was a Hermes 2000, which is like a very Ernest Hemingway sort of war-correspondent-for-the-Spanish-Civil-War machine, from my wife's step-grandfather who was a journalist. I still have it, but it doesn't work. I was hunting around to find somebody who could fix the machine when this little mechanical part finally broke and they no longer made that part. So I eventually gave up on it and got an Apple II. One of the guys in the typewriter store said, ‘Well, I can order you one of those. They still make it. It's exactly the same machine, it just has a different case or a molding around the mechanism.’ But he said it would cost more than a computer.” Just because the words in the novel evoke images of a bleak future where technology has penetrated into all aspects of human life and people access cyberspace with gloves and goggles, doesn’t mean that the words had to be created using any type of technology other than the human mind, but it felt like an unexpected contrast to me since typewriters seem antiquated in my mind. At the same time, it sounds cool because I have a romanticized idea of writing with a typewriter, having never used one myself. That’s why I think this IPad hack looks like it’d be fun to lug into a café:

However, as it turns out, Gibson may have had a fantastic vision of the future and the ability to share that vision with others through his words, but he certainly wasn’t living in the future. On his blog he explained that it wasn’t antiquated at all for him to use a typewriter at the time:

“As anyone knows who's ever looked at any bio notes on me, Neuromancer was written on a typewriter. This is often presented as evidence of weird lotek eccentricity on my part, but in 1981 I didn't know anyone who wrote on a computer. All the hotshit professionals had the IBM Selectric, which turned out to be the endpoint of typewriter evolution.”

I'm not sure if Gibson switched to writing on computers at any point (it sounds like he did when that part broke), but he certainly uses them now as he has a large online presence. He kept that blog a while back, and he currently runs an excellent Twitter account @GreatDismal. One of the projects he was recently involved with on Twitter was the #Quakebook, which was created using Twitter posts from the terrible earthquake that struck Japan on 3/11/11. In an interview for the project, Gibson called Tokyo, “one of the capitals of my imagination,” and said about his contribution for the book, “[it’s] this strange meditation on the profound restlessness I was feeling after the quake and the tsunami, which made me feel I should go there, I should do something. I don’t even know if it was an urge to help. It was an urge to make sure one of my favourite places was there.” The book is for a great cause, all proceeds go to the Japanese Red Cross.


---Other Entries in this Series---

Sunday, April 24, 2011

The Physical Writing Process [Part 1: Jack Kerouac – Typewritten Scrolls]

Whenever I encounter tales of the way writers physically sit down to write one of their books, I’m always fascinated. I like to imagine what the setting might have been like and what sort of instrument they actually used to get the ideas and images out of the mind and onto the page. I know that it probably has little bearing on the finished product of their writing, but I still find it fun to imagine what it might have been like when these works of art were created. I picture Franz Kafka in a small room, waking up at night to write after having worked in the office all day and then taken a nap after he came home. As he sits at the wooden desk, what sort of pen does he grab? Does he have loose sheets of paper? A blue notebook? Or picture Sartre in a Paris café. Are people engaging him in so many philosophical dialogues that it’s a wonder he manages to write anything? Does he have a tattered notebook he’s been slowly filling up with a blue pen day by day?

[Jack Kerouac – Typewritten Scrolls]


One of the strongest examples of these types of tales is the story of how Jack Kerouac sat down to write On The Road. It’s a tale that’s become more of a myth or a legend over the years, but it’s definitely true that Jack did sit down in an apartment and write as nonstop as he could manage to compose his first draft in only a few weeks. Jack wanted the quick pace and intense speed of his cross-country journeys to be infused into his novel, and he thought one way to do this was to write it in the same intense fashion. Living at a time when typewriters were the preferred tool of writers, he naturally chose one for his work, but he devised a plan to avoid the drag of needing to stop and load a new page at frequent intervals. He taped rolls of paper into a massive scroll that would continually feed through the typewriter so that he could write at the same frantic pace as Neal Cassady speeding across America. Not only did he create a classic novel and a legend surrounding it, but that actual artifact: a massive physical scroll with the unfiltered draft of his most popular novel. I like to imagine what it would be like to hold that scroll and roll though it. I missed the scroll’s tour across America back in 2009, but maybe I’ll see it some other time.



Of course, the scroll’s travels these 60ish years later aren’t nearly as fascinating to me as their original journeys in Jack’s backpack. If you remember Allen Ginsberg’s dedication to Jack at the front of “Howl and Other Poems” (back when Jack was virtually unknown), Jack had written a whole bunch of books on scrolls that he couldn’t get published, and he tended to carry them all in his backpack as he hitchhiked all over the place. There’s a scene in Desolation Angels that is particularly troubling to me: Jack falls asleep on a bus, and when he wakes up, he realizes his backpack is gone – a backpack containing three of his scroll-novels. They could be lost forever! He’d never be able to rewrite them quite the same way, if at all, and there are no copies of them. He’s so upset that he starts to cry. Fortunately, it was just some sort of mix-up and the bag was shipped to his destination. This episode particularly resonates with me because I am always paranoid about losing my work. I tend to type my novels directly into GoogleDocs so that they are constantly backed up on Google’s servers because I like the idea of it being infinitely multiplied through the vast network of cyberspace. Living in the past when there would only be one copy that could be lost or destroyed at any moment sounds very scary to me. At the same time, it’s probably relatively rare that a physical document becomes lost or destroyed, and my paranoia of losing my work originates from a time in college when my computer’s hard drive was completely erased and I lost a few short stories forever. Viewed in this light, perhaps it’s living in this future that is scary.
Before we move on, let’s just remember that Jack wasn’t only into typing his writing. He starts off his list of writing essentials advocating the use of “scribbled secret notebooks.”

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