Sunday 15 July 2001

Pic of the day: All paths lead somewhere, but we only have time to follow a few.

Short on short

I need to learn to write shorter. You would think it should be easier, writing less. But it is not. Oh yes, you can write less, but can you write the same in fewer words? That is the challenge. Or at least, not write so much less. Details will probably get lost. But to keep the essential - to retain the muscle while you lose the fat - that is the challenge. And I find it to be beyond me.

"In der Beschränkung zeigt sich erst der Meister". That's what he said, Goethe. Not until the limitation does the master show himself. But of course, standards were wider at his time. They were pretty verbose, Goethe and Milton and the old giants. They certainly had their hits, their well turned phrases. But they also had the freedom to expand a bit. Not so we. Time was running like a river, back then. Now it is running like a river through foaming, frothing rapids. Soon it will be like a waterfall, a dizzying spin past the mind, out of sight.

Sound bites. That's what they call it now. I think it started on the radio, or perhaps the TV. You have music. People like music, so they don't just move on to the next channel. Then you say something. But you have to say it fast, before people get bored. Before they start to miss the music. Before they switch channels again.

I have sometimes listened to political debates on radio. Nobody gets time to reason. No time to explain. No time to draw lines from past to present to future. No time. Just sound bites. To succeed, you need to have this huge database of aphorisms. Of short, consise proverbs. And you need to pick the right one, right there, on the spot. Before your precious seconds are past. I could not have done that. Politicians sure cannot. Well, except those who have one to three short answers to everything. So, they say something half baked. And people scorn them. Stupid politicians! Dumb, dumb!

***

Writing is better, after all. You have the time to think. You can go back and fix it. No wonder I prefer e-mail over talking, except with my very best friend. (Who talks all the time, usually. I love people who do most of the talking, at least if they make sense.)

But even writing is under pressure. People don't have time to read long essays. Must have short "text bytes". Get to it already! We don't have time. We must run. But the faster it is to read, the harder it is to write.

For me, a new enemy has joined the ranks. My hand and wrist are still working, but they fade slowly now. Not quite day by day, a bit more slowly than that. But I can no longer take for granted what I did: That I could write all day. I have to take pauses, now. I have to switch activities. Or I can continue to write, but endure pain.

Yet something good may come of it. I may have more time to think for each word. So far, it seems to just get more choppy; that wasn't quite what I wanted. But given time, I may adjust. I may learn to write shorter and yet better: If not today, then perhaps next year. (If any.)