Writing and tools
Writing and tools
[ Inspired by Tinka and her guestbook. ]
I hardly ever write in printed books; the only exceptions I can think of are technical books with errors, where I add corrections if there's space or just a note if there isn't. When I was poor and bought most of my books from charity shops I was never pleased to see someone else's annotations, and I've always assumed that no-one would be pleased to see mine.
When I read maths books (which is quite often in my line of work) I have to have an exercise book or a stack of scrap paper to hand, so that I can work through the proofs and do the exercises. The stack of paper can easily end up larger than the original book; reading maths is a very writerly past-time. Luckily, writing maths can be a very pleasurable experience (when you're not stuck); one can be very conscious of fastidiously composing an argument and at the same time exult in the arcane strangeness of the symbols. I'm a sucker for superficially esoteric notation; even when the meaning of it becomes almost transparent through practice, it remains a prized souvenir of our strange and private world.
Lately this has become one of my few excuses to enjoy the process of writing long-hand with a real (if cheap and plastic) fountain pen. When I write code (which is what I'm paid to do) I like to program directly with a text-editor, unencumbered by design or planning. The design emerges as part of the process, and in any case remains permanently in flux.
So, when I go through a period where I'm not actively engaged in doing
maths my handwriting falls apart horribly. It's been too long, this
time, and I've been missing it. Tonight I'm going to snuggle up in
bed with a big mug of tea and a
little
something
by Kolmogorov and Fomin.