Still Can’t Type, Still Crazy

After all these years, I still can’t type. The first time I was asked if I could type was by a woman in a hiring agency who was trying to place me in a job (see “But Can You Type?”). When I told her no, she complained how colleges were turning out all of these talented graduates who couldn’t do anything. She said that we were set up for the fast track in management but couldn’t do the simplest things like type. That was in 1978, and, honestly, she had a point. I wasn’t set up for much of anything beyond Cicero and Shakespeare, which can make excellent cocktail banter but don’t get you a paycheck. At least, they didn’t for me. Actually, my streaking experience was the best, but that’s another post. Maybe not.

I’m not blaming anyone except myself. A university education at the time didn’t include practical skills. And this was well before the explosion of “studies” programs, which turned into majors, which turned into departments, which turned out Foucauldian rebels who went on to liberate society. I was still trying to wedge myself into institutions, not liberate myself from them. As my father wrote in a graduation card, “Now it’s time to get a job.”

There were two things, however, that gave me a distinct advantage over my rivals in business and engineering. Those were the ability to think critically and write persuasively. Now, you may think I am not very good at either, and I respect that, but at least I know what to aim for. I see many people today who cannot think logically or write well. It’s not their fault except to the degree that they haven’t woken up and taken control of their own education. It’s difficult to squeeze in logic and writing when you’re consumed with throwing off the shackles of something or other.

So, if ten years later I still haven’t learned how to type beyond pecking with three or four fingers, what has all this blogging (nearly half a million words) taught me? Interestingly, Cicero taught that to be a good speaker, or rhetorician, you had to offer a well-reasoned argument (probare) that was pleasing to hear (delectare) and persuasive (flectere) (Orator XXI, 69-70, De tribus orationis officiis).

I don’t think blogging is much different from that. You’ve got to have a clear argument, which reminds me of Steve Martin in Trains, Planes, and Automobiles (1987) yelling at John Candy because his rambling stories didn’t have a point (probare). The language used is not inconsequential. A blog post isn’t a shop manual. Let the imagination wax without going overboard (delectare). Not going overboard is a skill that has to be learned, mainly from going overboard. And you’ve got to persuade readers or at least not have them shaking their heads in disbelief (flectere). Sure, I could have gotten trapped in the bathroom on that train as it pulled out of the station in Milan. Actually, I almost did (see Mano-a-Mano a Milano).

I remember George Orwell listing practical rules for writing modern English. (1) Never use a figure of speech you’re used to seeing in print. (2) Never use a long word where a short one will do. (3) If it’s possible to delete a word, do it. (4) Never use the passive when you can use the active. (5) Don’t use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or jargon if you can put it in everyday English. (6) Break any of these rules sooner than say anything “barbarous.”

The only one of these I have held to consistently is not saying anything barbarous. The others, including long words, foreign words, and figures of speech, have all popped up on this blog site like mushrooms after a summer rain. After ten years, I don’t see how they could not, although I have tried to be anything but quotidian or prosaic. You know, without going overboard.

As Bobby Bronco would say, but seriously, folks, if you get just one point out of this post, let it be this. There are few posts that I am perfectly satisfied with. I always find fault or imperfection in the writing, the media I pair with the writing, (how many readers will skip the audio file below?), or something else. What I have learned is that if I didn’t get it quite right this week, there’s always next week, and that’s just seven days away.

Of course, when next week comes, another imperfection will poke its head up like a mole on a neatly trimmed lawn. But it doesn’t get to me anymore. I know the week after will be even better.

Image credits: feature and type by Csabi Elter; white keyboard by Ryan Snaadt. For Cicero, see Satura Lanx. Want more? Go to Robert Brancatelli. The Brancatelli Blog is a member of The Free Media Alliance, which promotes “alternatives to software, culture, and hardware monopolies.” Many thanks to Blumen Publishing for their continued support and guidance. This post is dedicated to those readers and subscribers who have followed The Brancatelli Blog from the beginning. Your loyalty and feedback have made the effort entirely worthwhile.