Tag Archives: Technology

Turning Back Pages

The back wall of the office in our house consists primarily of bookshelves. Because Karen is (and I find this a very attractive trait…sort of the hot librarian thing) a compulsive organizer, these books are carefully categorized according to the various disciplines that she and I have studied and practiced during our lives. As such, old textbooks of every stripe are located amongst those shelves. On occasion, I find myself pulling an old undergrad textbook from the shelf and glancing through it. On Saturday morning, with our daughter watching cartoons and Karen sleeping in, I was doing just that.

One of the books that I looked through was an old technical writing text. This was actually from my post-undergrad (is there such a thing?) period in which I went back for some professional courses after completing my degree. I mention that only to stipulate that this book isn’t even as old as several of the textbooks that we still own. In the back of this book was an appendix on the web. The focus was on writing content, but the discussion about HyperText Markup Language and the construction of the web was amusing to me. It’s fascinating to take a look back on this, partly because HTML is second nature to me now (a stretch from the confused glaze on my eyes the first time I encountered code), but also because of how completely out of date a text can become in such a short period of time.

When I worked in the behavioral health field, there were trends that came and went…popular techniques that were deemed to be effective at points but then phased out in favor of what was proven by time to be beneficial to the client. With some exception, common sense tended to prevail. In other words, the core concepts of what makes for good parenting skills today aren’t all that drastically different from, say, five years ago. When I think of other areas in which I’ve practiced…avocations more than vocations…the same is generally true. Good storytelling, good acting…these crafts have a very long history behind them telling us what makes for good practice.

The same certainly can’t be said for technology. That’s why it was so interesting to read information that would be considered ancient today in the back of a book on writing, the rest of which, generally speaking, would still be considered at least a mostly accurate referent for study on the topic. It’s a unique point in history…honestly, a bit of a disconcerting point…in which the rapid pace of our change so quickly makes obsolete knowledge that came so recently to us. I’m concerned about how this de-values education, how it rushes an already frantic pace of life, how it leaves us tumbling, holding on to fleeting bits of wisdom from the past being sucked by as though an explosive decompression had just occurred at 30,000 feet. There’s always a direct correlation between the speed at which a task moves and the (lack of) quality of the finished product. The last thing that we need in our post-modern age, where history repeats itself and we continuously find new reasons to harm each other, is to have more reason to not think things through and rush to action.

That’s exactly the sort of thing that those textbooks from decades ago can work to counteract.

Disciplinary Actions

SIlhouette of a person in front of code projected onto wall

Something that I’ve heard a lot of colleagues and friends speak of during my life is the idea of practicing and improving at one’s craft. Because of my natural inclinations, the crafts that I’ve generally discussed…the crafts that I’ve practiced…have been writing and theatre. I can talk about both crafts in some detail, because they’re things that I’ve done, creative pursuits in which I’ve seriously engaged. I’ve touched just about every part of placing a production on stage, I’ve been published in various mediums…I’ve learned not only from academic studies, but from experience in both of these areas.

It’s my understanding that there’s a generally accepted logic that, after you’ve read a certain number of books on a given subject, you’re considered to be an expert at some level in the subject matter. While I find that logic a bit suspect (the number is always arbitrary, and it says nothing as to the quality of the source material that you’ve been reading…God help us if all “experts” in journalism were declared such after reading only books by authors like Sean Hannity), there is something to be said for studying something in depth, taking an interest beyond the realm of hobby and into the realm of a serious discipline. I suppose I’m able to speak somewhat expertly about religion and theology, because I hold a master’s degree in the discipline. I haven’t practiced the discipline of theology since grad school, however, at least not in any formal way beyond the ways in which we all practice it in our daily lives.

So, I’ve studied disciplines, and I’ve placed some of them into practice and called them crafts. I can speak somewhat authoritatively on both, but I wonder…what’s the difference between the two? Specifically, I wonder if this newest venture of digital construction, of building on the web, that I practice is actually a craft?

The idea of a craft carries with it something that can be honed to some degree of perfection. A person can be recognized as a master of his or her craft. I’m not sure, though, that every craft carries with it a discipline. Master carpenters and master electricians have mastered their craft without what we would consider academic pursuit, but have very specialized knowledge that eludes most of us. As with theatre and writing, we refer to artistic endeavors as craft, as well…one can practice them to a degree of mastery.

What I see in common in all of those examples is that there is a relatively static method of doing things, a set pattern with which one can become intimately familiar through repetition and practice. They all involve a process. The art of acting, the coordination of words in writing, all move in much the same ebb and flow from one project to another. Not so with technology. The pace of change is so ridiculously fast that there is never going to be a static referent to which one can achieve mastery, because by the time that point is reached, the methods and processes will have changed dramatically enough to be unrecognizable.

So, I don’t think that the web can be a craft. Perhaps it can be considered a discipline…perhaps. Certainly it’s a vocation, a skill set. It’s concerning to me, a bit, that crafts marked by long-term standards of excellence are being replaced by such rapidly evolving pursuits. That lack of longevity says something about our cultural identity, something disturbing.

I want to say that this new field in which I make my living is a craft that I work toward perfecting, but I know that it is all too immaterial, too temporary. Or, perhaps this is our new definition of a craft…perhaps the term is evolving. In any case, while it is it’s own form of poetry, and even though I believe that there is a right way and wrong way to do it, building for the web seems an extremely impermanent thing.

I hope that all of our pursuits are not as fleeting.

Photo Attribution: Nat Welch  under Creative Commons

Impulses to Click

It happened.

I’m sort of disturbed about it, to be honest.

You see, I’ve always spent a decent amount of time online, and I’ve been writing stories and ideas long before I wrote code. I’ve always been a voracious reader, and I guard my reading carefully (though life with a three-year-old leads to a less careful guarding of this than I would like). By guarding, I mean that I have always worked to reserve time for it (that’s the part that slides with a toddler). I used to routinely read 2-3 books monthly, part of which was motivated by a really great online book club, but then school and life and a daughter happened, so that average has significantly declined. That’s life, though, and the point is that I guard the time that I have carefully. I also guard what I read. I spent so much time in non-fiction during grad school that I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a novel again at the end of each semester (the only time I seemed to have to read them then).

By guarding, I also mean that I’m careful about how I read. I’ve read the research about how reading with a backlit display before bed causes disrupted sleep (and I do a lot of my reading before bed). I’m cautious to try to read the printed (or eInk) page while reading in bed, and leave the screens asleep for the night before I go to sleep.

I compartmentalize easily…I always have. Reading different mediums (a blog vs. a book) has always meant reading in two different modes, if you will. I’m careful about this because I want to, as much as possible, stave off the rewiring of our brains that different modes of reading brings. The beauty of reading a book…and one of the things that I so carefully guard against…is that I can become absorbed in those pages, that the world around me can melt away and that the only thing that exists in that moment is the story in which I engage as a willing participant. No distractions of incoming mail, no links, no infernal ads…rather the ability to leave all of that behind. It’s a different sort of experience, a different type of reading to me. That reading experience is what I’ve guarded, because I feel it to be so important, important enough to hold a dedicated place in our lives.

Last night, geek that I am, I was looking through a DC Comics superhero encyclopedia (don’t judge). In one of the entries, one of the images of artwork for the character in question was quite small. I got closer to it, squinting, and my right hand involuntarily moved for a mouse to click the image and make it larger.

My compartmentalized, guarded modes of reading collided.

Now, there’s a lot of conversation that could come from this, not the least of which is that this sort of book is exactly the sort of reading that is perhaps better suited for the medium of the web or an ebook on a tablet device. All of that conversation is valid. It’s just that I feel as though I’ve slipped in some capacity, that my guard has come down, that my reading or even my ability to think has somehow come into question.

And, that’s perhaps more than a bit melodramatic.

You see my point, though, right?

I’m going to go think about how to guard my reading again.

Out of Practice

I logged into the blog tonight (Thursday) out of a sense of obligation. I haven’t posted anything all week, after all, and my posts seem to be becoming progressively later in the week, in any case. I used to write every Monday, after all. Every Monday, publish early Tuesday, a routine like clockwork, and…

…and I’ve complained about this before.

So, I’m not here to initiate a resurgence of whining. I’m just noticing something else that goes along with this, a part of the bigger picture. I don’t keep up with the blogs that I follow as I used to any more, either. I used to carve out 30-45 minutes every day to read posts from everyone that I knew in the blogosphere. I was always looking for a new blog to follow. I classified myself among the serious bloggers, those who would list this as a very important hobby, if not a side vocation. The reason is because I think that this medium is so important. The expression that this permits is so huge on so many levels. Free information is put out there by numerous sources. As everyone kept a journal at certain points in our history, we can now throw our thoughts out there for anyone who wants to listen (sort of what I’m doing now). And, of course, what has always made it so fascinating is that readers can interact with us and our thoughts.

“Ummm…yeah, Dave,” you’re saying right now. “This isn’t exactly new. Not like we didn’t realize this and you’re giving us an ‘aha’ moment…”

I know. Not like Web 2.0 is a new innovation or anything. I think, though, that we need to be reminded of this, because we’re doing it every day and we’re lost a bit in taking it for granted. Choose your social network…whichever one(s) you use, you’re doing the same thing, just is shorter sound bytes.

And that’s what concerns me.

I will always believe that long-form blogging is important in a way microblogging can’t achieve. Not saying for a moment that the latter isn’t important, as well, but there are things that it can’t do that we can do in this medium. Yet, this medium seems to be declining, or at least that’s the word on the street with many bloggers that I’ve followed for a long time. There’s no time to write these posts anymore, they say, and many say there’s no time to read them, either.

And, certainly I find myself skimming my subscriptions and pulling out specific posts now, and that’s on the every-third-day that I manage to open Feedly at all.

I can identify any number of reasons why this is the case, most of them legitimate, if not all. My time is stretched thin with a 2-year-old in the house, family obligations, various creative pursuits, and, of course, that whole day-job thing. However you slice it, our attention spans become forever shorter, our time to read anything more than a few characters increasingly strained. Out of practice, and all that. So, perhaps this is a hobby that’s been nudged down the priority list as my season in life has changed. That happens. It’s still important, though, for all of us who write, and for all of who read, in spaces like this one. The thoughts that can’t fill a book by themselves, but that can’t be boxed into 140 characters. These spaces are important.

We just have to find the time to read them.

A Typographical Formula for Success

A photo of a child's spelling test, and the word "adventurous" mis-spelled

When I saw it, I sort of shook my head, grieved, and went on.

Which is progress, because there was a time, not all that long ago, when I would have raged against it, shouted at the heavens, and inundated every single social media outlet in which I participate to complain about it.

Actually, now that I think about it, I should probably be more concerned that my response was so tame.

The offending thing was in a legal contract that I was reviewing for a project in which I was about to be involved. Going through a binding legal agreement that was about to be entered into between two parties, every nuance of which held meaning and obligations to all parties involved…in short, a document which should never be entered into lightly…I saw it: a typo.

So glaringly obvious that it couldn’t have been missed. Except that it had, as though rushing the document out the door was more important than having someone proofread it.

And I’m going to assume that, had someone proofread it, the error would have been caught, because…well, because otherwise I would lose all faith in an otherwise literate universe.

I see it everywhere on a regular basis. Formal business emails, company blogs, articles…it’s almost as though we’ve forgotten how to use English. In fact, I’ve seen two in a novel recently. I’m more forgiving of that in a way, though, because at least I know that a line-editor has been through it, and, when faced with the daunting task of correcting 500 pages of manuscript, I have difficulty faulting anyone for missing an article.

The issue that I have, see, isn’t that someone would make typos when writing something. Typos abound in my work, especially in first drafts. Spellcheck doesn’t catch everything, or even most things. I think it’s the fact that rushing something to an facsimile of completion, whether it be fiction, a legal document, or a blog post, seems to take precedence over making certain that it’s correct. It’s the rushing that bothers me, because producing something quickly is allowed to take precedence over producing something of quality.

In short, I believe that you can either do something fast, or you can do it well, but the two are mutually exclusive.

Of course, that mentality places me at odds with the driving premise of business today, because business accepts the gospel of time being money, and ultimately is concerned with money over quality. And, if you hadn’t noticed, everything in the U.S. is operated as a business, and the pressure to maximize time has grown exponentially in recent years. Which leads me to believe that more typos and more flippant disregard for this beautiful language of English that has served us so well for so long will continue to increase exponentially, because the time required to do something well will continue to be pushed to the side in favor of a quickly-produced, and thus more profitable, product.

So, in twenty years, we’ll have stopped teaching grammar (Karen’s experiences in the classroom indicate that we already have), and, though we’ll only be reading and writing like fifth graders, we’ll know all about how to make money. Lots and lots of rushed, expendable, unfulfilling and antithetical-to-beauty, money.

Such a brave new world, don’t you think?

Photo Attribution: elginwx under Creative Commons