Something Old, Something...New
I’d rather write it right the first time.
Back when I was the sole IT guy for a fast-growing video company, I did everything: ran coax cable, repaired PCs and unjammed printers; managed the network, including a number of Netware1 servers and a DEC MicroVax; supported the manufacturing, accounting and product distribution software suites; and I even handled our PBX hardware, although telephony wasn’t in my job description. It was a wonderfully busy time, but I spent most days just trying to keep my head above water.
My favorite task was programming. I knew little about it—I was basically a self-taught computer geek who supplemented his knowledge by taking a few courses—but we needed a custom front-end that would allow sales reps to place orders to the manufacturing system. I’d been playing with dBase III, which was a database that used a very simple programming language, so I taught myself to write what we needed. It ended up being pretty slick for a DOS program, and I was proud of myself.
The problem was, once it was written, I didn’t relish going back to make changes. I wanted to move on to other projects. I was good at creating, but not so good at maintaining. Rather than rework the old, I craved making something new.
This behavior seems embedded elsewhere in my life, especially writing. I love to write—I am easily seduced by stringing together words in lovely paragraphs and get a real endorphin buzz from it—but revising? No. It’s as dull as pedaling an exercise bike in a hotel workout room without the Weather Channel. But writing something the first time, well, that’s like whizzing joyfully down a long hill in the country, your hands hardly pumping the brakes.
Sure, in revision I always seem to improve what I’ve written, but it’s an effort. And sometimes it feels like I’m not getting anywhere, but just watching the gauge clicking out imaginary miles while I wish I had the Weather Channel to alleviate boredom.
Wouldn’t it be nice if I could hit the keyboard and get everything right the first time? If I wrote that way, would I get better as a writer over time? Could writing be a skill like playing the bass guitar, where the more you practice, the better you get? Maybe writing can be a performance: You practice, you perform, and the performance must stand on its own, unedited, unrevised.
As for Order Magic, the program I developed, it was long ago tossed into the dustbin of history. After I left the company, my replacement came to understand the code and managed to make some improvements, but eventually the company hired some real programmers who had a love affair with COBOL and the IBM AS400. They were constantly harried by bug fixes, but that’s another story.
Does anyone remember Netware? Or even the DEC MicroVAX? dBase? No? Surely you remember DOS?