Most people are used to flat or low-cut keys on their keyboards – mostly, because Apple made it fashionable. But are they actually of value to the writing process?
Flat keys are economical, ubiquitous among laptop users. Low-cut keys are standard in workplaces, going hand in hand with the Microsoft office. And then you have raised keys, standard on ancient keyboards yet also common on modern gaming keyboards. That always struck me as odd. Why do gamers need keyboards with raised keys? What’s so special about raised keys? What’s better for the writer?
When I was getting distracted while typing on the macbook, I started to realise that it was the setup causing much of the problem. It wasn’t conducive of creativity. It was small, not comfortable, oddly positioned and ugly. I then brought home a low-cut keyboard and quickly realised the way I type at work isn’t conducive of creativity either. Then I saw somewhere that raised keys on gaming keyboards are made for keystroke precision. Voila, the answer started to form.
I researched gaming keyboards: mechanical, metal, high-quality. They were made for that needed their fingers to feel comfortable while also free to move quickly around the space they were working on. But they were only ever marketed to gamers, never writers. Writers get fountain pens if they want a high-quality writing experience, which they give whenever writing on paper, but what about when you need to type stuff up?
I did some research then went out and bought myself a mechnical gaming keyboard with raised “brown” keys. The “brown” classification signifies the sound they make when you type on them. For brown, read: not annoying. It took a week maybe two to get used to the keys and since then I’ve never looked back. Typing on raised keys has helped me tremendously. My keystrokes are accurate, my typing is faster, my hands are much more comfortable, the experience always feels conducive of creativity and it’s fun. It’s actually fun writing on this thing.
So, even though I typed on flat keys for a long time, having my macbook since 2009. Low-cut keys for even longer and still use daily at work; I really dislike my work keyboard. I now use a mechanical keyboard with raised keys at home. And I’m never looking back. I even bought the mouse that goes with it.
I’m on day four of my Mission: Impossible marathon. One was great and the best one, a perfect template. Two was cool but over-styled, love the Australian setting. Three was very good but a little too Bourne. Four is solid for the most part but there is this layer of cheese, though it doesn’t touch Tom Cruise, and, as always, he holds the movie together. Only two more to go this week.
The problem with people is that they’re people, and people will do things that suit themselves rather than other people. Obstacles and challenges they pose. Gate keepers for paths to glory. As long as you keep in mind what you set out to do, your purpose, than you can overcome the problems people shall cause. Most of the time, you can do that by working out their personal motivations, why are they blocking this pathway, why now. That’s all people are really, a bunch of questions hiding away hopes and dreams, desires and needs, governed by fear and rooted in self-preservation. Here’s to gin.
The rain wouldn’t cease it’s parade on the grounds around my home. It kept going all day, impassive to the needs of life below. For the plants the rain was a boon, but for the people it was a watery cage that kept us inside our homes for better or worse. No one could leave as the incessant tears fell and the icy wind howled like an injured banshee. Outside our doors was an apocalyptic death trap that used the sunshine to coax out desperate dummies into this beastly winter’s Sunday. Woe struck the hearts of the people and ennui strangled their senses. What else could they do but watch the day play out and the idiot box play indoors. Many discovered new ways to clean, others cooked what they had in their pantries and others still found old toys to occupy their listless hearts. For me, I transcribed many of my notes into my computer with a few glasses of whiskey to keep me company and a small black heater to keep me warm.
She then heard a voice above her, which sounded words faintly as if very close. “Open your eyes, if it is really you, dear child,” the voice said. “See me, as I am.”
As the young girl adjusted to the light cascading into the room, her eyes began to give semblance to the thing above her, and in this form she saw what a child would see, here, a rabbit.
“At the time of when I came to be, the world had been begun to be designed by the chaos, which was the will of anger and sadness. It wanted to find balance so it could act clearly, thus creating for itself another side. This opposite side became order, the will of pleasure and happiness, and came to work alongside chaos in the creation of life. I was their witness.”
The little girl did not believe what the silly rabbit had to say, because rabbits can’t talk. She thought she had must of been still dreaming and decided to leave her room to make her way into her sister’s bed, where she would go when it would rain outside. However, the voice would not let her go because her sister was no longer there.