If you write something for the printed page, it stares up at the reader, unforgiving, and especially if the words offend you, it sears. — Frank Deford
Deford’s words above spoke directly to me when I first read them on Tuesday. I have gone over this same concept with others, but never have I put it so succinctly.
Unlike spoken conversation, the written word lingers there waiting to be read again. Pondered over and over while the reader’s imagination takes control.
The difference between my point and Deford’s is that he compares printed word to radio. “On the other hand, no matter how the radio voice may temporarily concentrate the mind, having spoke, it moves on,” he writes. The commentator could say, “People who like yellow are sissies,” and then go to another topic. The listener at first would be distracted, but eventually focus would shift and memory of the sissy remark would fade.
Let’s go one more step to talking face to face or on the phone. The advantage over other methods of communication is that the listener often can discern intent from inflection, gestures, or a quick laugh. If that doesn’t work, then he or she can speak up and say, “Could you tell me what you mean by that?” Rather than stewing in silence trying to surmise the speaker’s intent, the listener gets immediate clarification, a quick cleanup of a messy assumption.
Similar to radio, even if the listener does not speak up, a potentially offensive comment tends to fade. Ideally, more pressing concerns creep back in and the controversy becomes a non-starter.
An e-mail sitting in the inbox is a dead document, forever doomed to spout whatever the writer found fit to send at any given moment. No matter what discussions take place afterward, its text remains there as a reference, where the reader can experience the inflammatory words, no matter how unintentional, again.
Then he or she can consult a significant other for advice. “Read this and tell me what you think.” The onlooker leans over for a peek at the screen, in some cases with absolutely no shared history with the writer, no context within which to help judge the words displayed. This often exacerbates the problem.
All of us as humans are susceptible to this because we are thinking beings. Our minds, not content to sit idly by and do nothing, make it so easy to infer plots and schemes that we often don’t realize it’s happening.
Blogs have a slight advantage over e-mails, because they can be changed. If something is pointed out as wrongheaded or inaccurate, the writer can make an adjustment and note it. Something as simple as “that girl is a dope” can be corrected to read, “that girl is dope.”
Silly examples aside, I have seen entire friendships burned to cinders via e-mail (none were my own). The things they used to get to know each other, to understand his or her moods and meanings — tone of voice, body language, mannerisms — all were left languishing at the mercy of the typed words. A simple joke can be taken all too seriously. Emoticons can do a little to control the damage, but some things are best left to the spoken word.
At least then if something is taken wrong, you might recover before things take a wrong turn.
Note: Before anyone asks if this was inspired by a recent discussion out here… Dave and I are still thick as thieves. I finished a book on Monday and started Deford’s at lunch on Tuesday. The timing was strictly coincidental.
