I guess this needs to be prefaced with a short story about how I learned to type.
You younglings may not remember this, but WAY back in the past there were typewriters. Not sleek, cool electric typewriters that hummed when you turned them on and danced around the page, but large killer clunkers that you had to hammer on the keys as if you were pounding in a nail; punching through a fabric ink-dipped ribbon to get a letter onto the page.
that is what I learned on. It sat in a case where you could lock down the top and transport it, probably causing a hernia along the way if you really had to move it more than once a year. But I sat there and hammered out my first words. Lord knows where it is now…
anyway, for years my husband has chastised me for keeping the same pressure up on my poor little keyboard – slamming my fingers down on the keys as if I were trying to punch through that ribbon still. He claims that he can hear me anywhere in the house when I get on a roll and I don’t doubt him.
which was all fine, until about a year ago when I broke my left little finger due to a foul ball slamming into my left arm and bouncing up my hand, breaking the finger.
three months in a small brace and since then it’s been weaker than ever – aches during bad weather and yes, painful to type. I’ve had to literally remember to only brush my finger over the keys; not pound them ’cause it hurts so much. I expect there’s some sort of story there about early arthritis and all that and no, can’t sue the ballpark. Although I’m never going to a game again.
ANYWAY, every time I have that pain in my finger (which is quite often, since I’m a Bear of Little Thought when I get on a roll) I remember that sometimes you don’t need to hammer at something to get the best result. Sometimes a light touch will get the job done much easier and with less pain than slamming into it at full force.
meanwhile, I’ve become heavily addicted to Zyngo in Second Life, still sending out poetry and working on "Blaze of Glory". I’m determined to not settle for the small presses this time around; life’s too short to spend my time hawking a book that you won’t find on shelves unless I put it here. All or nothing.
at least for the novels. Poetry, well… that’s another thing.
over and out.