An argument for minimalist writing tools

In a recent workshop on the materials and tools of writing, I asked the group to indicate which method they used to input text on a computer. Almost everyone used Microsoft Word — with the exception of a sole advocate for the OpenOffice word processor (an excellent word processor, in fact).

This homogenization of word processing, whether on the Mac or PC, inevitably delivers a consistent — and therefore conformist — experience to the act of typing on screen. The method of input unquestionably influences the output. By way of subtle cues and imagery (icons, menus, procedures), word processors inculcate a particular type of consciousness. Works of writing from different authors but produced on the same word processor will be more similar than those produced using separate tools. The differences will be subtle but not inconsequential.

Moreover, all word processors introduce a level of aesthetic abstraction that is perhaps not useful to the writing process. Word processors encourage us to fiddle with fonts and spacing, with countless page layout options, with the visual aspect of work that in its initial stages should be primarily visceral.

And word processors are ergonomically inefficient. The mouse, which requires the full use of one arm, is a primary tool in word processors, as are menus and keystrokes assigned for mnemonic rather than ergonomic functions (control-S to save, for example, requires the removal of the left hand from the home row of the keyboard). As I begin to understand that my persistent arthritic aches are essentially caused by mouse and keyboard use, ergonomics becomes a core consideration.

Now, to alternatives and solutions. Take a look at Bram Moolenaar’s seven habits of effective text editing. Learn to reduce the number and increase the efficiency of the keystrokes you make. Wean yourself from the mouse. And notice that Bram uses vim, unquestionably a most robust and efficient text editor (Bram is Vim’s main creator). Vim was originally designed for the Unix operating system, but its current version is used mostly by Linux users (like me; I use Ubuntu Linux). However, cream is a vim equivalent for Windows. Vim is cryptic, it has a steep learning curve, and some of its functions are improbably arcane. In this sense it mirrors the writing process — unlike word processors, which blanket that process, covering it with neat type.

Although Vim and other minimalist tools such as BBEdit (for the Mac) are used mostly by programmers, writers are increasingly recognizing the advantages of such tools: less is more (see Charlie Dickinson’s essay on Vi).

Neal Stephenson (author of Cryptonomicon) puts it nicely:

I use emacs, which might be thought of as a thermonuclear word processor. It was created by Richard Stallman; enough said. It is written in Lisp, which is the only computer language that is beautiful. It is colossal, and yet it only edits straight ASCII text files, which is to say, no fonts, no boldface, no underlining. In other words, the engineer-hours that, in the case of Microsoft Word, were devoted to features like mail merge, and the ability to embed feature-length motion pictures in corporate memoranda, were, in the case of emacs, focused with maniacal intensity on the deceptively simple-seeming problem of editing text. If you are a professional writer—i.e., if someone else is getting paid to worry about how your words are formatted and printed—emacs outshines all other editing software in approximately the same way that the noonday sun does the stars. It is not just bigger and brighter; it simply makes everything else vanish. For page layout and printing you can use TeX: a vast corpus of typesetting lore written in C and also available on the Net for free.

(I also use Emacs.)

In its beginnings and its evolution, the act of writing is about the bare bones, the essential, the elemental. Use a tool that delivers, rather than distracts, from that wonderful trajectory.