Unicorns in Pyjamas

By Gene Wilburn

[Readers] adore images that trot by like a unicorn in pyjamas -- Arthur Plotnik

As I was preparing for my annual rereading of Strunk and White's Elements of Style, I happened to listen to an episode of Writers on Writing, a podcast that included an interview with Arthur Plotnik, author of Spunk & Bite: A Writer's Guide to Punchier, More Engaging Language & Style. Plotnik was a delightful interviewee -- witty, thoughtful, enthusiastic, and highly inventive in his locutions. His reading from Spunk & Bite made me want more, so I checked the online library catalogue and found a copy at my local branch. Great, I thought. I'd been wanting to inject some freshness into my writing, and Plotnik's funny, irreverent tone caught my fancy. Perhaps I too could dress some unicorns in pyjamas.

The book reads crisply as Plotnik paces the reader through energetic displays of cleverness. He has even invented his own words for metaphors that describe enormity at one scale, and the microscopic on the other: megaphors and miniphors. For someone like me who writes simply and likes his coffee plain, this was like graduating into the barista talk of Starbucks. No simple brew here -- this was the stuff of pumpkin spice lattes and iced caramel macchiatos. Strunk and White, eat my dust! For anyone whose writing needs a jolt -- cola or otherwise -- Spunk & Bite is a tonic. Oops, I think that was a mixaphor.

Nonetheless, something about the book bothered me. It made me feel inadequate and I needed to understand why. I'm not always a confident writer. Although I have confidence that I can turn out a clear, concise, and easy-flowing essay or article, I'm more essayist than poet. For me, writing is hard work -- I pick at my thoughts and words slowly. I envy those whose flights of fancy can lead them into the world of fiction or poetry or who can knock off book chapters in a single session.

When it comes to style I'm a classicist. I prefer clean, uncomplicated prose with varied sentence structure and a clear sense of direction. Although I know plenty of writer's words, as Plotnik callls them, I rarely use them. I can be witty, but I try not to overdo it. I prefer thought, rather than cleverness, to drive my prose.

The more I read Spunk & Bite, the more uncomfortable I became with it. It sounded too now, too Wired. Attitude uber alles. Exaggeration for its own sake. And more than a little bit of old-fashioned showing off. A tincture of imagery and clever writing goes a long way. I like imagery, but think writers should play small ball with it. Spunk & Bite is Barry Bonds glitter with a focus on the big swing.

Plotnik's repeated jibes at Strunk & White also began to gall. While I don't canonize the book, it's my talisman of sage writing advice. I'm capable of making up my own mind about some of its admonitions and I agree that some of them are a little dated. But the emphasis for me is on a little. Poltnik implies that its pre-Internet advice leads to dull writing in a multimedia age.

The same day I picked up Spunk & Bite from the library, I also picked up a copy of A Field Guide to Getting Lost, by Rebecca Solnit. Solnit is one of my favourite essayists. She captivates me again and again partly due to her subject matter and largely due to her style. I read the first chapter, an essay called "Open Doors". Here were the thoughts of a fine mind inviting the reader as companion as she explored new ideas about what it means to be alive. In clean, gorgeous, classical prose that would make Messrs. Strunk and White smile. I felt cleansed. Leave the cleverness to others, the prose sang to me. Get on with the journey.

It's not that I wouldn't recommend Plotnik's work to those looking to freshen up their prose. Each time I returned to Spunk & Bite, I found fresh ideas and passages to enjoy. That in itself makes the book worthwhile. But when its due date arrived, I was happy to return it to the library and reflect on its visit into my mind. It was like entertaining a lively guest full of wit, puns, repartee, and joie de vivre -- fun, but exhausting. Spunk & Bite is good as a dinner guest from time to time to keep things lively. In contrast, Strunk & White is an old friend, perhaps aging, but very dear and proven -- the kind who's welcome for long fireside chats. In the long run, nothing beats an old friendship for trust and affection.

-30-

On Acquiring a Dana

On Acquiring a Dana

By Gene Wilburn



Like many writers, I've spent years in search of the perfect writing machine. I've tried desktops, laptops, PDA's -- I've even tried returning to writing on a yellow legal pad with a fountain pen. My quest has resulted in a checklist of features I've narrowed down as essential attributes in any electronic device I use principally for writing: portability, simplicity, weight, battery life, and above all, keyboard quality.

Not long ago -- I can't recall exactly how it happened -- I stumbled across a discussion group for AlphaSmart writing machines on Flickr (www.flickr.com/groups/alphasmart). A support group dedicated to the AlphaSmart Dana and Neo portable writing devices on a photo hosting site seems a bit incongruous but Flickr abounds with incongruities such as the excellent Your Books discussion group (www.flickr.com/groups/your_books/) where members regularly discuss what they're currently reading, ranging from Harry Potter to James Joyce's Ulysses. It was fortuitous for me to encounter the Dana at a time when I was looking for something to replace my Dell Axim and folding keyboard. The Dana's name was known to me.

I first heard about the Dana from Peter Storck, an Ontario archaeologist I once worked with at the Royal Ontario Museum. He wanted my opinion of it and I, a former IT guy who prided myself on his technology savvy, had to admit I'd never heard of it. Dana? What an odd name. He sent me a link to the AlphaSmart website (www.alphasmart.com) that showed a Tandy 100-looking device, powered by PalmOS and sporting a full-size keyboard. The more I read of the specs, the better it sounded. When I queried Peter a little further it seemed he wanted absolute simplicity in a writing machine he could take with him everywhere, synchronizing with his desktop computer at intervals. At the time I was doing the same thing with a Palm IIIc device with folding Palm keyboard so I sympathized with his need for portability. He purchased a Dana and, last I heard from him, took it to Paris for a stay in France.

At that point the Dana dropped off my tech radar. I continued in my own quest for the perfect writing companion by moving on to a Dell Axim with wireless keyboard that I used for writing articles and essays, and a small Moleskine notebook and fountain pen I used for journalling. I have always enjoyed writing longhand with a fountain pen so the Moleskine and pen part of the equation was a success for the short, leisurely entries I wrote in my journals. The Axim, like the Palm IIIc before it, was less satisfactory. Despite their delightfully small sizes, foldout keyboards tend to be unstable. They require a solid surface and care must be taken not to bump off the PDA sitting on top. Due to the precarious bird-on-a-post nature of these combos, they're not at all suited to resting on your lap. I used these PDA's unenthusiastically, longing for the keyboard ergonomics of my fondly remembered Tandy 100.

So, re-enter the Dana. Some online searching showed that new Danas, with wireless, were available in Canada but at a steep markup over the US price. I could buy a new laptop for less. Not that I wanted a big, bulky laptop with all its attendant weight and distractions, but to justify experimenting with a Dana I needed a better price, so I searched on eBay for used ones. One reseller had a few Danas for sale. I calculated how much I was willing to spend and successfully bid on one. By the time I had paid shipping, brokerage fees, provincial sales tax and Canadian GST, the cost was about $200. Not bad considering a new one purchased in Canada would have cost me close to $600 after taxes.

I've been using the Dana less than a week and, so far, it's proving to be quite decent. Its Achilles' heel is its LCD display: the display is relatively contrasty but has to be seen in just the right light to be usable. There's a permanent tilt in the contour of the unit -- if one could tilt it more forward or back as needed, the display would be easier to adjust to lighting conditions. The Dana has a backlit screen, but the backlighting is anemic. I've yet to find it useful. From what I can gather, the less expensive Neo, with no screen backlighting, has a contrastier screen and far greater battery life. But the Dana is no slouch. Twenty-five hours on a charge makes the machine highly portable without worrying about running out of power. The built-in word processor called AlphaWord is also quite decent, though I almost immediately upgraded to its bigger sibling WordSmith (www.bluenomad.com) in order to gain support for the unit's built-in SD slots. Best of all is the keyboard -- it's even better than the keyboard on my old Tandy 100, the standard against which I judge all keyboards on portable devices.

If you've never been attracted by writing machines such as the Dana or Neo, you may wonder what all the fuss is about when $500 can buy you a brand new, albeit low end, laptop. To make some sense of this, let's return to my original checklist.

Portability. It's a personal thing but I hate being tied to a computer workstation. I know writers who are content to sit at their desks and pound away at their novels, short stories or magazine articles for hours at a time but I'm not one of them. Restless by nature, I need to move around and write where my feet take me -- a park bench, pub, coffee shop, library carrel, train station or airport. Or with my feet propped up in an easy chair listening to jazz on my Bose Wave as I write with my writing device in my lap. For me a writing tool needs to be nearly as portable as a pen and pad. I don't require, or even want, wireless connectivity.

'Wired generation' enthusiasts may have difficulty understanding why I don't want wireless. This may be hard to understand by a non-writer, but simplicity plays an enormous role in writing productivity. Email, IM and the Web are distractions to thinking and productivity. I get all of that I want, and far more than I need, on my desktop -- in fact I'm particularly susceptible to being sucked into online discussion forums. To do any kind of serious writing I need to get away from all that.

Simplicity. I also don't need much in the way of software. I like simplicity -- even on a desktop computer my preferred writing software is a good text editor -- vi, Emacs, or EditPlus. When on assignment for a magazine I eventually convert it into a Word document, but up to the last possible draft, it all happens in plain text. Think typewriter with a never-ending roll of paper in it. Come to think of it, Jack Kerouac liked writing this way too -- literally. The Dana has more than enough software to keep me happy. Furthermore, the PalmOS operating system of the Dana requires no startup or shutdown procedures. When you're done with it, you press the off button and the unit is off. Press the on button and it's right back in your document where you left off, instantly.

Simplicity in a device, one that is not connected in any way to the Internet, contributes to concentration on what's being written. As I've already indicated, I'm weak and easily succumb to distractions. In order to write, I have to cut myself off from distractions and temptations -- hence I appreciate the Spartan nature of the Dana.

Weight. After years of carrying around my four-pound Tandy 100, I concluded that even that was too heavy. The ideal writing machine should weigh no more than two pounds. There may be some two-pound portables on the market but I've not encountered any. Moreover, all the genuinely lightweight laptops I've seen are priced more as executive perks than practical purchases for writers and students. The Dana weighs two pounds and has a slim profile. It doesn't fold, so it can be stowed quickly in a bag or small backpack.

Battery life. My old Tandy 100 got 20 hours from fresh batteries. The Dana gives me 25 hours on its fully-charged internal battery, with the option to switch to 3 AA alkalines if needed for an additional 25 hours. This is the kind of battery life a mobile writer needs, and no laptop currently on the market comes even close. On a four-hour flight from Toronto to Vancouver my laptop batteries expired before the flight was finished. When battery life is of key importance, avoid laptops. The Dana display is not as bright as I'd like, but it's a compromise I can accept in order to reap the attendant battery life.

Keyboard quality. There are laptops with good keyboards. My friends who use MacBooks are quite happy with the keyboards on their units but most of the keyboards I've tried on laptops have felt flimsy. The Palm Folding Keyboard I used with a Palm IIIc was surprisingly decent, but was not Tandy 100 quality, and more than once I knocked the Palm device off the keyboard. The folding Bluetooth wireless keyboard I used with the Dell Axim was annoying. The general feel wasn't bad but to type numbers and even common symbols, such as an ampersand or percent, required special keystrokes. Worse, the Axim fell off its keyboard perch frequently.

The keyboard on the Dana (and presumably on the Neo) is wonderful and fairly quiet. I read somewhere that the keyboard is made by Samsung. I pound the keys when I type -- a legacy of my high-school typing class where we used manual, upright Underwood and Royal typewriters with blank keycaps. The Dana keyboard is full size and there are no unpleasant serious surprises in its layout. The only thing preventing it from getting an A+ rather than a solid A is that it has a bit of keyboard bounce. If I'm not careful I get doubled letters when I'm typing quickly.

Time will tell how long the Dana lasts as my favourite portable writing machine. The Palm Foleo will be released soon and it appears to have some of the attributes of the Dana, at least in terms of weight and size. It also will have a brighter, crisper, more modern colour screen. But it only gets a projected five hours of use on a battery charge and it's full of wireless connectivity. Until I've had a chance to test its keyboard and general ergonomics, it remains nothing more than interesting potential. Besides, I used my Tandy 100 throughout the 1980's and into the 90's. Once I establish a close rapport with a writing machine, I tend to stick with it for a long time. Perhaps the Dana, too, will accompany me down many a winding road and alleyway. It appears to have the 'write stuff'.

-30-

[Amended 26 Aug 2007 to correct some misleading wording about the Neo. My thanks to paleo_paul on the Flickr AlphaSmart group for catching that. Thanks too to Doug for catching my typo on AlphaWord]

The Rip Van Winkle Effect:

Encountering Digital Photography

In Washington Irving's story "Rip Van Winkle", the central character, Rip, a Dutchman, undergoes a life-altering experience: after accepting a few drinks from a distinctly odd-looking crew he encounters while hunting in the "Kaatskill Mountains" of the American colony of New York, he feels drowsy, leans against a tree for a nap, and awakens twenty years later, to a changed world. A revolution had occurred, and the portrait of King George at the local tavern had been replaced with a portrait of George Washington.

Revolutions, especially technological ones, sometimes catch us unaware, as if, like Rip, we'd slept through them. In a single lifetime many of us have witnessed the advent of space exploration, solid-state electronics, personal computers, optical disc recording and playback, the sequencing of the human genome, extraordinarily lightweight but strong bicycles, online banking, and nearly instant electronic mail delivery. At the same time, older technologies persist, creating a rich, complex mosaic of technological cultures, subcultures and disputed boundaries. There are places in Ontario, for instance, where a rider can pedal a titanium-frame bike down a country road, listening to music on an MP3 player weighing mere ounces, while overtaking an Amish family riding in a horse-drawn buggy, and, in turn, be overtaken by a sleek, modern CD-sporting automobile that is, nonetheless, powered by an early-20th-Century-style internal combustion engine. Ironies and contradictions abound.

One of the consequences of this technology matrix is that you sometimes get "stuck" in an older, though perfectly adequate technology -- such as writing with a fountain pen on paper -- without even being aware of newer possibilities. It's when you awaken to these possibilities that you experience the Rip Van Winkle Effect: the perception that the world has changed without informing you, much less asking your permission.

Being an early adopter of computer technologies, I've been in a position to observe the impact of this technology on others. In the early days of personal computers -- microcomputers as they were first known -- it was not uncommon to see someone's work methodologies transformed as they discovered WordStar, VisiCalc, or later, WordPerfect, Lotus 1-2-3, Word, Excel, or the more recent OpenOffice Writer. While some resisted technology forced on them by a changing workplace, others experienced an almost religious epiphany: "Where has this been all my life?" When we connect with a new technology, we're a bit like Rip, looking at a landscape that is at once familiar, yet irrevocably altered.

The Rip Van Winkle Effect becomes stronger the longer you've lived. It's the gap between the familiar and the new that results in the deepest impact. Accustomed as I am to computer technology, it never extended into music for me. A campus folksinger from the 60's, I still play acoustic six-string and twelve-string guitar occasionally, both of which are virtually unchanged from that era. Yet several of my musician friends now have relatively inexpensive recording studio capabilities in their homes, something unimaginable back when we were doing Bob Dylan, Tom Paxton and Woody Guthrie covers. Even more astonishing, my own son has become an electronic musician (www.ironimp.com), creating music from synthesizers and computer technologies undreamt of in the pioneering days of "Switched-On Bach".

Despite being an early computerist, one particular technology slipped past me nearly unheeded. Digital photography, a revolutionary change in the way images are captured and processed, was well on its way to maturity before I fully tuned in to it. It was my comeuppance: a blow to the incipient arrogance of the technology elitist. Quite frankly, I had dismissed digital photography as a tech toy. The early low-resolution images I'd seen reminded me of the crappy amateur Polaroid prints of yesteryear; convenience was its sole virtue. I dismissed digital as a technology that wasn't ready for prime time.

In hindsight I can see that I was blinded to the potential of digital photography because I was already a serious photographer. Specializing in black-and-white images printed in a traditional darkroom, my modus was film, and my cultural icons were Leica, Rollei, Nikon, and Hasselblad. I knew cameras and I knew lenses, and I was once serious enough about them to spend a year pursuing an MFA in Photography. Aside from auto-focus and auto-exposure, neither of which I used, photography had progressed very little since the last major breakthrough: the advent of single-lens reflex (SLR) camera-body design in the late 50's and early 60's. Fundamentally, until digital, photography had changed very little since the invention of roll film. You exposed a light-sensitive medium and chemically developed the medium into negatives or positives.

My curiosity was finally piqued by some trusted friends of mine who swore by digital. On a whim, I purchased a Canon G2 -- a four megapixel point-and-shoot camera that had been getting good reviews at the time. My film prejudice evaporated instantly and, like many before me, I exclaimed, "Where has this been all my life?" I was Rip, awakening into a familiar, yet eerily different, world. Digital photography was not perfect, but it was fun! I have subsequently made the logical transition to digital SLR and although there are still issues with digital photography, such as constricted dynamic range and the need to learn somewhat demanding image-editing skills, the fun and convenience of digital won me over. I still shoot film, and likely will as long as I can buy it, but I now understand why digital photography has become so popular with so many people.

Speaking of film, though, what happens to older technologies when new ones become dominant? In some cases, typewriters for instance, they simply disappear, or become niche-market items. The Amish still use horse-drawn buggies so buggies, buggy whips, and harnesses can still be purchased.

Newer technologies sometimes transform older ones into an art form. Vinyl LP's and tube amplifiers enjoy cult status among audiophiles who prefer the warmer sound of analog audio technologies. Digital photography is turning film photography into an art form. As professional photographers, at one end of the spectrum, and family snapshooters, at the other, embrace digital and put aside or sell their film gear, manufacturers of traditional photographic materials have felt the impact. Ilford nearly went bankrupt. Agfa appears to have ceased all manufacture of photographic materials, and Kodak has undergone massive layoffs and product consolidation. Presumably, like vinyl LP's and tube amplifiers, film will continue to be available to the art photographer and those who simply prefer film, though the selection will likely not be what it once was.

Not surprisingly, any change brings resistance and even resentment. This is a normal reaction to change, but in photography, where there is still much that can be praised about film and film cameras, the change has hit some photographers hard. There is, for instance, a "rightness" about a beautifully-printed black-and-white darkroom print that digital is only beginning to approach. The tug to stick with traditional means of producing photographic images can be strong -- strong enough that a few internet forums have emerged to help members keep in touch with film and darkroom developments. Forums such as APUG (Analog Photography Users Group), Rangefinder Forum, and the Classic Camera and Leica forums on photo.net provide electronic meeting places for the faithful. But, of course, the digital photography forums outnumber the analog ones by a large number. Digital photography is popular and it will likely remain so, and while digital and film photography will coexist for years, perhaps decades, one medium is in the ascendancy and the other is in decline.

The emergence of digital photography as a technology illustrates once again how rapidly the technological substrate of our culture is subject to rapid change. Our acts of coping with, and reacting to, changes of this kind are, perforce, philosophical: in what ways do these technologies contribute to the "good" life. What, in a technological age, is the good life. How do we define it?

None of this escaped our soulmate, Rip. When he returned to civilization he was amazed, as well as disoriented. He is said to have lived a relatively happy, if puzzled, life in his new world, but I suspect he carried within himself a nagging sense of not quite belonging. A life of constant, rapid change is not an easy life.