Writing it down enforces (some sort of) logic

Jenny quotes Erica Wagner:

Isaac Bashevis Singer wrote for more than four decades on an Underwood portable. For him, his machine was a kind of first editor. "If this typewriter doesn't like a story, it refuses to work," he said. "I don't get a man to correct it since I know if I get a good idea the machine will make peace with me again. I don't believe my own words saying this, but I've had the experience so many times that I'm really astonished. But the typewriter is 42 years old. It should have some literary experience, it should have a mind of its own."

Hey, I've been writing for almost 42 years myself!

More to the point, the Singer quote reminds me of my own experience in doing mathematics. It's virtually impossible for me to write down a formula with pen on paper unless I understand what the formula means. The act of writing enforces rigor. It makes perfect sense to me that a similar thing would happen to Singer when typing stories.

More like this

calls to mind this N. Y. Times piece:

Along these lines, it seems composers sometimes pick up different instruments when trying to solve musical problems. Itâs not that a violin offers up secrets the piano withholds, but that the mind starts thinking differently when we play different instruments. Or maybe itâs just that the flow of thought alters when we write, which, in turn, releases sentences hidden along the banks of consciousness.

With me, though, it's something more overt. Writing not only taps a hidden reservoir of eloquence; it forces me to grapple directly with the logical framework underpinning my thoughts.

By ragamuffinman (not verified) on 26 Dec 2009 #permalink