nektros - Cynicism in a Hot Dish

There is something meticulously discomfiting about writing in public. More so, there is something distractingly meta about writing in public in preparation for an online post, to the extent that even strategically placed nonsensical adjectives fail to disguise the fact that for the most part, public doodling is a dying cum extinct form of word whipper-uppering.

Case study one: On the beach

During a long bygone long weekend beach outing, stretched out over sand and wedged between sunscreen lotions and useless paper fans with architectures more appropriate for heat dispersing than heat destroying, I fished a notebook and pen from my freshly baking shoulder bag. Plucking pen cap from pen tip and fitting jack to brain in order to lever out any remaining intelligent thoughts, I began to write.

“Beaches aren’t supposed to serve as pathways to glorious eulogies for assignments done on them.”

I glanced up at the source of the voice hovering near my left earlobe, plans for distorting her stream of swear words into a wildly inaccurate quote already bearing fruition in my mind.

“It’s not an assignment,” I replied, watching my companion sit cross-legged beside me. She carefully positioned a newly acquired grease bucket of doom – otherwise known as a fish and chips combo – in her lap.

“Love letter?” she pressed. “Stalker letter? Letter to a stalker finally admitting you requite his love?”

I finished the flourish of my pen blotting out another supremely superfluous word from the page. My companion chewed. I knew that revealing the prenatal blog post snippets lying within my notebook would only earn me a stare emptier than the most vapid gaze on the most desolate desert plane, and eventually, a prank involving my towel and a packet of tomato sauce.

“It’s my diary,” I finally said, the taint of idiocy in my lie spreading faster than I could have imagined.

My companion studied me intently, plans for intricate placement of superfluous condiments within my towel lighting up her eyes. Smiling, she pinched my arm.

“This isn’t the day to be a dork,” she said. “You’re outside in fresh salty sea air, for God’s sake. Put that away and enjoy it!”

Case study two: On the train

Sitting at the far rear of a train carriage a few days later, I retrieved my notebook and pen from my freshly tanned shoulder bag. After a few minutes of scribbling, my train swallowed up a handful of passengers from the next station. Glancing up to ensure that the station was not mine and that I was safe from utilising shrubbery as a blanket for another night, I met eyes with a gentleman coming my way.

He rolled his eyes before sitting down.

Furious plans for combining my past research into spitting death rays from my eyes and overreacting after taking things far too personally in order to exact my revenge swirled through my hands and onto the paper before me. Another station flew past before the man got up to leave. He paused next to my seat, and as I prepared to strike him down with one well-placed ray-spitting glare, he chuckled.

“Heh,” he murmured. “I thought you were going to ask me to do a survey.”

He was gone before I could complete my theatrical gape or cutting reply.

Conclusion: No-tech writing, the original and best

Nothing is more individual than one’s personal preferences when it comes to their mode of writing. However, in my own experience – which increasingly seems bedecked with what is now designated by our technological society as off-the-charts looniness – a simple pen and paper combo not only suffices for but improves my writing process.

Distractions of the wi-fi channelled variety disappear. Words flow freely when dictionaries and thesauruses are out of the reach of a simple click. And pre-written words act as the ultimate remedy to the common disease known as ‘post beginning about my cat and ending about the body buried in my backyard’.

Off-line writing. Try it some time, and you’ll know by the end.