There is a profound difference between writing and typing.
The latter is a mass act of mediocrity, a mistaken defense of function — a collective exercise in banging millions of keyboards with buzzwords and catchphrases, and exclamatory statements and overzealous sayings — that treats the reader like a programmable automaton; a corporeal creature with buttons and levers, to be pushed and lowered, and punched and pulled for a specific action — to buy whatever is on sale, whenever and wherever a retailer commands your assistance — without an ounce of thought or hesitation on your part; you exist, exclusively and compliantly, to do something — to spend money — based on the words and sentences, as well as the slogans and directives of some typist; a writer in name only whose rapidity of touch, displayed by the hitting of letters with all the subtlety of a teenager texting friends about a weekend party or the assertiveness of a drunk trying to maintain his balance as he shakes his fist and screams at the televised image of some celebrity or politician; an errand boy unconcerned with the news, provided there is always a supply of something — anything — to shout about, so you can go about sliding and swiping your credit card for the good of a corporation that expels verbal garbage with an intensity equal to its insensitivity toward the beauty of language, the majesty of writing and the sound of so many lyrical epigrams and expressions of eloquence.
We are not, thankfully, slaves to bad advertising and celebrants of that most common denominator of dullness called consensus.
For, to quote that defiant and courageous woman of iron will and bold proclamations, Margaret Thatcher:
What great cause would have been fought and won under the banner ‘I stand for consensus?’
Be a writer of integrity by writing with integrity.
Free of everything but those eternal virtues of justice and liberty, write — and speak — about those self-evident truths.
Together, we can pursue that precious gift of happiness.