Meta Spectacle

Instructional: How Not to Write an Article for Extratone About Wanting to Write an Article for Extratone

So, here you are. You’re sat at your desk with a world of pos­si­bil­i­ties in front of you, and you’ve decid­ed to begin by nav­i­gat­ing to the Extra­tone home­page. Wait a sec­ond, what is that logo? Is that meant to be an E? You can’t real­ly dis­cern it. Maybe if you sit up in your chair a bit to get to that angle where the con­trast on your screen changes, but you’re not too sure why it does that because you know any­thing about how light­ing works. Oh, yep. You see it now. Def­i­nite­ly an E. An E over a tri­an­gle? Wait… that’s a Greek thing, right? Okay, shit. Quick­ly, open up Google in anoth­er tab and type out “tri­an­gle greek let­ter.” Okay, yes. Looks like it’s a delta. Alright, well, I guess you’re inspired now to write an arti­cle for this excit­ing new medi­um even though you don’t real­ly know what it is about? That sure was a great intro­duc­tion. Well, let’s begin.


Now, the best place to start is by open­ing a new doc­u­ment in your favourite word proces­sor. Is it past mid­night while you’re doing this? Good. Max­imise that win­dow. Real­ly strain those sleep deprived eyes of yours with an entire screen of blind­ing white. Now, select the high­lighter tool and set it to black. This is your moti­va­tion. The more you type, the eas­i­er the screen will be on your eyes. But Mihm, now I can’t see what I’m typ­ing. And shouldn’t I be think­ing about my writ­ing? Maybe start with a plan? And wait a sec­ond, while I’m at it, why’d you spell max­i­mize with an s? Nev­er­mind that. You might find some u’s where they’re not meant to be either, it’s just small details, get over it. And as for plan­ning: don’t wor­ry about that. Just write. Let what­ev­er keys you press stay there. You cre­at­ed that. That’s you on the screen. Feel like punch­ing the key­board? Bxdgtrchtyfvjug­fyik­b­jh­buhgfvf. Bril­liant, you’re well on your way now.


Are you begin­ning to think that maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all? What have you got, a cou­ple para­graphs? Turn off the black high­light and read what you’ve writ­ten. Go on, go for it. I’ll be here wait­ing. … Done? Alright, how was it? Is it sup­posed to be fun­ny? Did it make you laugh? Shit. It didn’t. It’s not fun­ny at all. So, what’s the point of it? Is it instruc­tion­al? Well, no. Enter­tain­ing? Not real­ly. This is unlike­ly to raise even a smirk out of the most eas­i­ly amused read­er. So then, what’s the point? You don’t know? You’re ask­ing me? Hell, I don’t know. And you’ve adopt­ed this quirky writ­ing style that has become more annoy­ing than any­thing else. It’s too late now, though. You’re play­ing the no back­space game. The true stream of con­scious­ness. But you’re over it now. You just want to get up and get a snack and for­get about this writ­ing thing. You’ve writ­ten enough that you don’t want to delete it all and let it go to waste, but you’ve not writ­ten enough to end the arti­cle. You know if you you get up and leave it that you’ll nev­er come back to it. So, what do you do? Just write out one more sen­tence that kind of wraps it up, but very insuf­fi­cient­ly, and then just stop typ­ing when­ev­er you feel like it, even if it leaves a word incom­pl