This is my first voice-dictated blog. I didn't think it would be so
hard to write sin manos. But it is hard, infuriating, even.
It would seem that cutting out the middleman, the hands, would
streamline the work, enabling a direct conversation: Le Brain to Le
Page. Trala! Viola! But no. My brain-to-page conversational ability
is that of a clingy three-year-old who has been unceremoniously dropped into a new daycare.
Sayonara Mom. Adieu middleman. There will be tears.
For I miss my middleman, I should say middleladies, plural, for there are ten of them. For 38 years writing has been a handcraft, writing implement to paper, phalanges all articulated, hunched over, something akin to knitting.
Voice recognition feels like it removes me from the process. Look at me, I'm standing up writing! Walking around! Making a sandwich! I feel I'm Sci-Fi and should be wearing a tight silver space suit. I feel like a denim overalls-wearing farmgirl in space, and unable to find the words to describe how far away is Kansas.